“Not in the style of that delicious ‘Complete Letter Writer’ I found the other day. Heavenly! It told you the correct way of refusing a proposal of marriage from a widower.”

“I doubt if you would have enjoyed staying at home as much as you think,” said Miss Blacklock. “There were duties, you know.” Her voice was dry. “However, I don’t really know much about it. Bunny and I,” she smiled affectionately at Dora Bunner, “went into the labour market early.”

“Oh, we did, we did indeed,” agreed Miss Bunner. “Those naughty, naughty children. I’ll never forget them. Of course, Letty was clever. She was a business woman, secretary to a big financier.”

The door opened and Phillipa Haymes came in. She was tall and fair and placid-looking. She looked round the room in surprise.

“Hallo,” she said. “Is it a party? Nobody told me.”

“Of course,” cried Patrick. “Our Phillipa doesn’t know. The only woman in Chipping Cleghorn who doesn’t, I bet.”

Phillipa looked at him inquiringly.

“Here you behold,” said Patrick dramatically, waving a hand, “the scene of a murder!”

Phillipa Haymes looked faintly puzzled.

“Here,” Patrick indicated the two big bowls of chrysanthemums, “are the funeral wreaths and these dishes of cheese straws and olives represent the funeral baked meats.”

Phillipa looked inquiringly at Miss Blacklock.

“Is it a joke?” she asked. “I’m always terribly stupid at seeing jokes.”

“It’s a very nasty joke,” said Dora Bunner with energy. “I don’t like it at all.”

“Show her the advertisement,” said Miss Blacklock. “I must go and shut up the ducks. It’s dark. They’ll be in by now.”

“Let me do it,” said Phillipa.

“Certainly not, my dear. You’ve finished your day’s work.”

“I’ll do it, Aunt Letty,” offered Patrick.

“No, you won’t,” said Miss Blacklock with energy. “Last time you didn’t latch the door properly.”

“I’ll do it, Letty dear,” cried Miss Bunner. “Indeed, I should love to. I’ll just slip on my goloshes—and now where did I put my cardigan?”

But Miss Blacklock, with a smile, had already left the room.

“It’s no good, Bunny,” said Patrick. “Aunt Letty’s so efficient that she can never bear anybody else to do things for her. She really much prefers to do everything herself.”

“She loves it,” said Julia.

“I didn’t notice you making any offers of assistance,” said her brother.

Julia smiled lazily.

“You’ve just said Aunt Letty likes to do things herself,” she pointed out. “Besides,” she held out a well-shaped leg in a sheer stocking, “I’ve got my best stockings on.”

“Death in silk stockings!” declaimed Patrick.

“Not silk—nylons, you idiot.”

“That’s not nearly such a good title.”

“Won’t somebody please tell me,” cried Phillipa plaintively, “why there is all this insistence on death?”

Everybody tried to tell her at once—nobody could find the Gazette to show her because Mitzi had taken it into the kitchen.

Miss Blacklock returned a few minutes later.

“There,” she said briskly, “that’s done.” She glanced at the clock. “Twenty past six. Somebody ought to be here soon—unless I’m entirely wrong in my estimate of my neighbours.”