“What made you sit in the drawing-room to-day?” asked Aunt Beryl. “You know you always stay in the dining-room until six o’clock.”
Grandpapa’s perfectly alert old face suddenly assumed a blank expression.
“Eh, my dear?” he said vacantly.
Aunt Beryl repeated the observation in a higher key.
“I can’t hear you,” said Grandpapa obstinately.
Aunt Evelyn and Aunt Beryl exchanged glances.
“Don’t do that, my dears, it’s very ill-bred. Even little Lyddie here can tell you that. Very bad manners to exchange glances. I suppose you thought I couldn’t see you, but I’ve got very good eyes yet.”
The old man chuckled gaily at the discomfiture on the faces of the two women.
“You must come downstairs now, Grandpapa. It’s tea-time,” said Aunt Beryl firmly.
Lydia wondered how anyone so very old and frail could ever be taken downstairs. Did Uncle George carry him? She saw with horror that neither of her aunts made any move to assist him as he leant forward and gripped a stout stick that stood against the arm-chair.