Besides, there’s a Lady Saxenden, on her back somewhere.’

‘No, no, Aunt Em. I want to get at him about Hubert. Father says he’s the nod.’

‘Dinny, you and Michael use the oddest expressions. What nod?’

Sir Lawrence broke the petrified silence he usually observed in the presence of his wife.

‘Dinny means, my dear, that Saxenden is a big noise behind the scenes in military matters.’

‘What is he like, Uncle Lawrence?’

‘Snubby? I’ve known him many years – quite a lad.’

‘This is very agitatin’,’ said Lady Mont, resuming the parakeet.

‘Dear Auntie, I’m quite safe.’

‘But is Lord – er – Snubby? I’ve always tried to keep Lippin’-hall respectable. I’m very doubtful about Adrian as it is, but’ – she placed the parakeet on the mantelpiece – ‘he’s my favourite brother. For a favourite brother one does things.’

‘One does,’ said Dinny.

‘That’ll be all right, Em,’ put in Sir Lawrence. ‘I’ll watch over Dinny and Diana, and you can watch over Adrian and Snubby.’

‘Your uncle gets more frivolous every year, Dinny; he tells me the most dreadful stories.’ She stood still alongside Sir Lawrence and he put his hand through her arm.

Dinny thought: ‘The Red King and the White Queen.’

‘Well, good-bye, Dinny,’ said her Aunt, suddenly; ‘I have to go to bed. My Swedish masseuse is takin’ me off three times a week. I really am reducin’.’ Her eyes roved over Dinny: ‘I wonder if she could put you on a bit!’

‘I’m fatter than I look, Auntie.’

‘So am I – it’s distressin’. If your uncle wasn’t a hop-pole I shouldn’t mind so much.’ She inclined her cheek, and Dinny gave it a smacking kiss.

‘What a nice kiss!’ said Lady Mont. ‘I haven’t had a kiss like that for years. People do peck so! Come, Polly!’ and, with the parakeet upon her shoulder, she swayed away.

‘Aunt Em looks awfully well.’

‘She is, my dear. It’s her mania – getting stout; she fights it tooth and nail. We live on the most variegated cookery. It’s better at Lippinghall, because Augustine leads us by the nose, and she’s as French as she was thirty-five years ago when we brought her back from our honeymoon. Cooks like a bird, still. Fortunately nothing makes me fat.’

‘Aunt Em isn’t fat.’

‘M-no.’

‘And she carries herself beautifully. We don’t carry ourselves like that.’

‘Carriage went out with Edward,’ said Sir Lawrence; ‘it was succeeded by the lope. All you young women lope as if you were about to spring on to something and make a get-away. I’ve been trying to foresee what will come next. Logically it should be the bound, but it may quite well revert and be the languish.’

‘What sort of man is Lord Saxenden, really, Uncle Lawrence?’

‘One of those who won the war by never having his opinion taken. You know the sort of thing: “Went down for week-end to Cooquers. The Capers were there, and Gwen Blandish; she was in force and had much to say about the Polish front. I had more. Talked with Capers; he thinks the Boches have had enough. I disagreed with him; he is very down on Lord T. Arthur Prose came over on Sunday; he estimates that the Russians now have two million rifles but no bullets. The war, he says, will be over by January. He is appalled by our losses. If he only knew what I know! Lady Thripp was there with her son, who has lost his left foot.