“Yes, it must be horrible to have a lot of money that can’t behave itself,” Nancy agreed.
Her brother-in-law regarded her disapprovingly. He resented few things more than jokes, for he objected to wasting those ready smiles of his almost as much as he hated wasting his ready money.
“Well, shall we go into the drawing-room?” he asked, trying to make his guest feel that merely to lead her from one room to another in Lebanon House was giving her much more than he would give many people for nothing.
“Are those aunts?” Letizia exclaimed in disgusted astonishment when she was presented to the two drab middle-aged women with muddy faces and lace caps who, each wearing a grey woollen shawl, sat on either side of a black fire from which one exiguous wisp of smoke went curling up the chimney.
“Yes, those are your aunts, darling,” said Nancy, hoping that Letizia’s generic question had not been understood quite in the way that it was intended. “Run and give them a kiss.”
There must have been a note of appeal in her mother’s voice, for Letizia obeyed with surprising docility, even if she did give an impression by the slowness of her advance that she was going to stroke two unpleasant-looking animals at the invitation of a keeper. Then it was Nancy’s turn to embrace the aunts, much to the amazement of her daughter, who exclaimed:
“You kissed them too! Was you told to kiss them?”
“May I leave Letizia with you while I finish my talk with Caleb?” Nancy asked her aunts.
Caleb looked positively sullen over his sister-in-law’s pertinacity, and he was leading the way back to what was apparently known as the library, when the elderly maid appeared with the tea. He beamed again.
“You must have tea first. I’m sure you must be wanting your tea. I was telling—er—Nancy about our Thursday cake, Aunt Achsah.”