'Aunt Jessie's been rather ill.'
'Still that nasty pain?' asked Vincy.
She stared at him, then laughed.
'As if you remember anything about it.'
'Oh, Mavis! I do remember it. I remember what was the matter with her quite well.'
'I bet you don't. What was it?' she asked, with childish eagerness.
'It was that wind round the heart that she gets sometimes. She told me about it. Nothing seems to shift it, either.'
Mavis laughed—hoarse, childlike laughter that brought tears to her eyes.
'It's a shame to make fun of Aunt Jessie; she's a very, very good sort.'
'Oh, good gracious, Mavis, if it comes to sorts, I'm sure she's quite at the top of the tree. But don't let's bother about her now.'