Rosamond threw up a hand.

“What can I do! She does love them so, and they are really quite harmless. It is Nicholas Cunningham who brings them. His aunt has shelves and shelves of them, but I’ve told him not to bring any more of the la Rue woman’s stuff. Broken Vows and Passion for Two! Jenny was so cross when I took them away, but they were really nasty. I don’t think the others will do her any harm.”

He made a wry face.

“Children like sugar.”

Her smile came and went. It was a little tremulous.

“Don’t say that to Jenny.” Then, on an urgent note, “We mustn’t stand here talking. Aunt Lydia doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

She took him along to the door which she had opened before, went a little way in, stood aside for him to pass her, and said,

“Mr. Lester, Aunt Lydia.”

He was never to forget his first impression of Miss Crewe’s room. At a glance two things emerged-it was grey, and it was crowded. He was to discover later on that the original colour of the hangings, the striped wall-paper and the faintly patterned carpet had been a delicate shade of blue. Under this light and lapse of years they were now as grey as dust. And so was Miss Lydia herself.

She sat in an upright chair, a hand on either of its massive arms, and dominated the scene-tall, stiff, with thick iron-grey hair taken back relentlessly from a high, narrow brow and bony features. He found himself wondering what she could have looked like when she was young. The bones were all good. With bloom and colour there might even have been beauty there. The thin, stiff figure might have had its curves-it had none now. The right hand lifted and was extended to him. Stones flashed in half a dozen rings-diamond, emerald, ruby, sapphire. The fingers that wore them were as cold to the touch as bone. She said,

“How do you do, Mr. Lester? I understand that you have come down to see my niece. Pray sit down.”