As her Aunt returned, Joanna instinctively moved away from the photograph.

“Yes, that is poor Henry,” said Perdy, observing the movement. “I keep his picture there to remind myself that I have forgiven him the great wrong he did me when he put me into what he called a ‘Nursing Home’, and kept me locked up there that he might indulge his fleshly lust with my children’s governess, whom he never had the courage to marry. No doubt you have had a garbled story from your mother? There is not a word of truth in that. But basta! As I have said, I forgave Henry long ago – even before God punished him by a lingering illness before calling him on to another phase in his development. I would gladly have nursed him, if he would have allowed me. But he refused my offer, and did not even answer my letter of tender forgiveness. In that horrible asylum all those on whom I laid my hands were immediately cured. Thus God causes the wrath of men to praise Him, Joanna.”

During this speech, Aunt Perdy had passed her arm round her niece’s waist, and at some points the girl could barely resist her inclination to burst into a fit of laughter.

“Your stomach is shaking, child,” remarked Aunt Perdy. “You are laughing at me. No. You needn’t apologize or explain. I see that, in spite of the sorrow God has sent, you are still one of the herd. I must have patience with you. Some day perhaps you will understand. Now follow me upstairs.”

Joanna climbed after her aunt up the steep ladder which led through a square opening in the ceiling to the upper part of the house.

This was even simpler than the living-room, and contained neither cupboard nor fireplace. There were two iron bedsteads, a chest of drawers, an enamel basin and ewer, and a printed calico curtain in a corner concealing a few clothes. The floor was uncarpeted save for a worn strip between the beds. But here also everything was scrupulously clean.

Joanna was glad to relieve her increasing feeling of tension by at once opening her travelling case, and unpacking the presents she had brought from Glasgow. There were several pounds of tea, on which Aunt Perdy pounced joyfully, and she fingered with critical approval the roll of good wearing stuff her sister had sent – rough grey tweed with a herring-bone pattern. She was pleased too with the half-dozen pairs of Balbriggan stockings and the stout moirette petticoat. But what took her fancy most of all was a pair of half-worn brown velvet slippers, with cross-straps and high heels, belonging to Joanna. Before Joanna could beg her to keep them, she had put them on instead of her zocolli, and even over the coarsely knitted socks they fitted her. In her delight she walked up and down the room, holding out her full skirts like a young girl and looking down with pleasure at her elegant feet.