“No—no—” Cornelius made a gesture of pushing something away. “It’s not that …” But he had no time to finish, for at that moment they heard the car brake to a halt on the gravel drive. Christina ran out to the porch, and John quickly followed to help the fragile Mamzelle safely up the steps.

In a few moments the Ark, which had seemed so silent, was filled with clamor—the thundering steps of Robin and Comfort carrying bags up to the top floor, and Mamzelle’s whispery old voice greeting Cornelius, then demanding to be shown to her room.

“Yes, darling, come with me.” Christina took her arm, and slowly they climbed. “You’re in the blue room, with your own bathroom.”

Halfway up, they met Robin and Comfort coming down.

“Oh, it’s so wonderful! I found my rock collection.” Comfort beamed. “Oh, Gram, you are an angel to have us all, even though …”

“Nonsense! It’s heaven for me!”

Mamzelle, standing two steps below the landing, surveyed Comfort’s leather skirt halfway up her thigh, her long blond hair down her back, and shook her head.

“I am dreadfully upset to see that child looking so … so … ridicule,” she said. “What is it you wish to resemble—a girl from the chorus?”

Comfort blushed and Christina rushed in. “No one is to be criticized, Mamzelle. Darling, you are showing your age,” she teased. “Come along, you must have a little rest to prepare for all the other monsters you will have to face at dinner.”

Robin provided a diversion by sliding down the banisters.

“Good Heavens, Robin!” Christina said in dismay, for though the banister had held his forty pounds when he was small he now weighed three times that. It did look rather dangerous.

“It is terrible—John’s beard,” Mamzelle murmured.

Now Sybille, who had been talking with Cornelius, came up behind them.

“We like it,” Sybille said. “It makes John look positively ponderous.” She laughed her bright, hard laugh. “Where do I go, Mother Chapman?”

Christina had never been able to tell Sybille how she hated being called that. She opened the door into the pink room. “Hope all those roses won’t make you dizzy.” None of the wallpaper had ever been replaced, and the pink room did have a very old-fashioned paper, she realized, seeing it suddenly through Sybille’s eyes.

“It’s delightfully quaint,” Sybille said, laying her bag down and going to the mirror over the bureau to arrange her hair. “After all these years I think I know every rose by heart.”

“I’ll just see that Mamzelle is all right.” And Christina departed thankfully.

It was irritating to fall into the pattern of mother-in-law with this woman who managed to act on Christina like sandpaper on an abrasion. The word “quaint,” for instance, disposed of things nicely.