“Gladys! Enid!”
“Sylvia!”
“Oh, Sylvia, you were priceless! Oh, we enjoyed ourselves no end! You don’t know my husband. Ian, come and bow nicely to the pretty lady,” cried Gladys.
“Sylvia, it was simply ripping. We laughed and laughed. Ralph, come and be introduced, and this is Stumpy, my boy,” Enid cried, simultaneously.
“Fancy, he’s a grandfather,” the daughters exclaimed, dragging Mr. Worsley forward. He looked younger than ever.
“Hercules is at Oxford, or of course he’d have come, too. This is Proodles,” said Gladys, pointing to the little girl.
“Sylvia, why did you desert us like that?” Mrs. Worsley reproachfully asked. “When are you coming down to stay with us at Arbor End? Of course the children are married....” She broke off with half a sigh.
“Oh, but we can all squash in,” Gladys shouted.
“Oh, rather,” Enid agreed. “The kids can sleep in the coal-scuttles. We sha’n’t notice any difference.”
“Dears, it’s so wonderful to see you,” Sylvia gasped. “But do tell me who you all are over again. I’m so muddled.”