"Your father was very modest," Cousin Greta said, but she sighed. It occurred to Joey that perhaps Cousin Greta disliked the day together quite as much as she herself did. She made an effort to be pleasant; perhaps, after all, Cousin Greta didn't mean to slight Mums; it was only her stupid way of talking.
"Do tell me about Father when he was a little boy," she asked.
"If you peep at the glass in my room when we come to Mote House you will know just what he looked like," Lady Greta told her more cheerfully.
Joey stared. "Am I like him? I never knew that."
"I see the likeness," Cousin Greta said, and was silent for a little while the car flew along the straight marsh road at a most exhilarating pace.
"I suppose your mother never heard anything more after the letter from that fellow-prisoner, which she sent me?" she asked at last.
"No, nothing; though Mums wrote and wrote, and went to meet the batch of prisoners from Wilhelmgradt after the Armistice, and Uncle Staff went on going to the War Office."
"It was a great blow to us all," said Lady Greta.
Joey bit back the remark that it was worst for Mums; after all, Mums wouldn't have liked her to say it. There was a little silence.
"Gracie is looking forward to seeing you," Cousin Greta went on at last. "Let me see, she is just two years older than you are, I suppose."