“What is the matter, Grandpapa?” said the much surprised Aunt Beryl.
Everyone knew how angry Grandpapa would have been had he suspected anyone else of looking upon him as a useless old man.
“Anno Domini,” sighed Grandpapa melodramatically, “Anno Domini! No one left but little Shamrock to keep the old man company.”
“Grandpapa!” cried Aunt Beryl indignantly, “I’m sure if you had to depend on the dog for company, you might complain. But you know very well that isn’t the case. Why, here’s George only too ready to have a game of Halma, if you want to. Or Lydia could read out to you for a bit.”
“Lyddie’s off to London, my dear,” sighed Grandpapa in martyred accents, for all the world, thought Lydia indignantly, as though she meant to start off by the next train.
“What?”
But Grandpapa, having dropped his bomb amongst them, not unwisely elected to leave it there without waiting to see its effect.
“I shall go up to bed now, my boy. Will you give me an arm?”
“But it’s quite early. Don’t you feel well, Grandpapa? And what’s all this about Lydia going away?”
Aunt Beryl received no answer.