“It’s the knowing you were coming that’s done that, Aunt Mary. You ought to have seen me when I got your telegram. I almost turned a somersault.”
Aunt Mary smiled rapturously and patted his hand.
And just then they drew up in front of the house. She looked out, and her face fell a trifle.
“It’s awful high and narrow,” she said.
“They all are,” Jack replied, opening the carriage door and jumping out to receive her.
The door at the top of the steps opened, and a man came down for the bags. In the hall above, a pretty maid waited with a welcoming smile.
Jack piloted his aunt, first up the entrance steps, and then up the staircase within, and led her to the lovely room which had been vacated for her. The maid followed with tea and biscuits, and the man brought the luggage and ranged it unobtrusively in a corner. There was a lavish richness about everything which made Aunt Mary and her trunk appear as gray and insignificant as a pair of mice, by contrast; but she didn’t feel it, and so she didn’t mind it.
Jack kissed her tenderly.
“Welcome to town, Aunt Mary,” he said heartily, “and may you never live to look upon this day as other than the luckiest of your life!” Then, turning to the servant, he said:
“Janice, you see that you do all that money can buy for my aunt.”