‘Well then, our coming grandchild.’

‘Oh, I guess so. May be kind of hard on Little Nero himself . . .’

‘I DON’T think it’s nice . . .’

‘ . . . but it will amuse Annabel, and it will be swell for Howard. Think of what a chance he’ll have now to go swelling around being guide, philosopher and friend to the defenceless kid! There is one thing. You know how often the pendulum swings back to the grandparents. Maybe Little Nero will have some of our independence, and not be a fat-head like his father.’

‘Why, Fred! Who ever heard or imagined grandparents not being just pleased to death at the coming of their first grandchild!’

‘Well, I am pleased. Don’t get me wrong. Only I don’t figure on being both granddad and dad. You’ve read about grandchildren that didn’t spend any too much time longing to support their grandparents, haven’t you?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Why shouldn’t it more or less work both ways? You know Howard darned well meant it when he hinted he expected us to drop any personal plans we might have and stick around and nurse the royal heir.’

‘Ye-es.’

‘And you know, don’t you, that if we DO stick around, he’ll probably make us do anything he wants us to — there not being any more powerful influence on God’s green earth than the smile that wins, when it’s got a bottom layer of good, sticky self-approval. He’ll be too strong for us, and too dumb. So we better not stick around. Ain’t there something to what I say? Ain’t there?’

‘Um — anyway, it really is a little too much, expecting you to support four generations.’

‘How d’ you mean?’

‘You helped your father pay off his mortgage when you were a travelling man, didn’t you? And you helped your sister start her dressmaking business . . .’

‘How that would grind Putnam Staybridge! Aristocratic to wear swell dresses, but low-class to make ’em.’

‘And you certainly have always supported your own self since you were a brat — and I’ll bet you were a brat, too! No, I don’t bet any such thing. I bet you were a cute baby.’

‘I don’t know about when I was a baby, but ‘long ‘bout six-seven, I was such a fat, sweet-looking kid, with long curls, that I had to lick the everlastin’ daylights out of about one neighbouring kid per day, to keep my standing. Golly — I hope Sara don’t come in on us, but that certainly does feel better.’

They were on the new settee in the living-room, the radio turned on so low that it emitted only a background of music, like wind in the trees, but amid all this refinement, Fred had sighingly removed his shoes.

‘Well, you and your sister make a second generation you’ve supported. And you certainly saw Howard and Sara through everything. And now, apparently, Howard expects you to be responsible for this fourth generation — Little Nero. It’s a little too much.’