Wally rose from the table, tucking the newspaper under his arm. "There you go again! If I've told you once, I've told you a dozen times that I don't like shooting. And now I come to think of it, I lent my gun to Harold, and he hasn't returned it yet, so I can't shoot even if I wanted to.

This was too much, even for a woman of Ermyntrude's kindly disposition. She said hotly: "Then you'll tell Harold White to return it, Wally, and if you don't, I will! The idea of your lending poor Geoffrey's gun without so much as by your leave!"

"I suppose I ought to have sat down with a planchette, or something," said Wally.

Ermyntrude flushed, and said in a tearful voice: "How dare you talk like that? Sometimes I think you don't care how much you hurt my feelings!"

"Oh, I do think you're quite too brutal and awful!" exclaimed Vicky.

"All right, all right!" Wally said, retreating to the door. "There's no need for you to start! If a man can't make a perfectly innocent remark without creating a scene - now, stop it, Ermy! There's nothing for you to cry about. Anyone would think Harold was going to hurt the gun!"

"Do get it back!" said Vicky. "You're upsetting mother simply dreadfully!"

"Oh, all right!" replied Wally, goaded. "Anything for a quiet life!"

As soon as he had left the room, Vicky abandoned the protective pose she had assumed, and went on eating her breakfast. Ermyntrude glanced apologetically at Mary, and said: "I'm sorry, Mary, but what with that White, and him being so tiresome, and then my poor first husband's gun on top of everything, I just couldn't help bursting out."

"No, he's in one of his annoying moods," agreed Mary. "I shouldn't worry, though. He'll get over it."

"It's all that Harold White," insisted Ermyntrude. "He's been worse ever since he got under his influence."

"I don't think he has, really," said Mary, always fairminded. "I'm afraid it's just natural deterioration."