By way of distraction, I asked if the young man at tea with the disheveled hair and startlingly unorthodox tie was a friend of Claud’s, and she said, “His greatest!”

At that moment Claud came into the room, wearing a less earnest expression than usual and Aunt Anna held out a hand of forgiveness.  He warmly clasped it.  “Mother,” he said, “Windlehurst has just told me, in strict confidence, that he considers Maud’s the most beautiful face he has ever seen, except, of course, in the best period of ancient Greek art.  I knew you wanted to hear the unprejudiced opinion of an unbiased outsider.”

I wondered how Windlehurst would like the description!  Claud went on:  “I think Edith every bit as good looking, more so in some ways.  Now that I have heard an unprejudiced opinion I can express mine, which you have known all along.  You see, mother, people say we are a self-centered and egotistical family.  I have proved that we are not.”

“Dear, dearest Claud, your tie is disarranged,” murmured his mother, struggling to reduce it to the dimensions of the orthodox sailor knot.  “Do wait and listen to all dear Betty is telling me of dearest Pauline’s wedding.  So interesting.  Go on, dear Betty; where had we got to?”

Chapter XIII

My correspondence regarding my summer plans was varied, and the suggestions contained therein numerous.  Here are some of the letters.

Diana’s: 

Darling Betty, —­ What do you say to the Cornish coast, coves, cream, and children!  As much of the coast and cream, and as little of the children as you like!  David has a bachelor shoot in view, and I think sea air would do the children good.  I do not propose leaving any nurses at home, or sending them away; they shall all come and run after Sara should she get into the sea, when she ought not to, but you and I will have the joy of watching her.  She really is delicious paddling.  Think of the rocks, and the coves, and the sands, and not of the wind or of other disadvantages that may strike you.  As much as you like you shall read, and whatever you like, so long as you will, at intervals, look up and smile at me.  I shall love to feel you are there, so do come, not as a professional aunt, as you sometimes describe yourself, but as your own dear self.

     Your loving
     Diana

Zerlina’s: 

Dearest Betty, —­ I know how difficult you are to find disengaged, but do try and come to Cornwall with us.  The children would love to have you, and I know you enjoy tearing about after them on the sands!  Nurse must go home for her holiday, and the nursery-maid is so useless.  But you shall do exactly as you like.  I know you wouldn’t mind if I left you for a day or two.  Jim is so keen that I should go to the Cross-Patches, being in the neighborhood, more or less.  Do write and say you will come.  I do get such headaches at the seaside, and I look so awful when I get sun burnt, but it suits you.