‘Caroline, Charles, Charlotte,’ he repeated. ‘Yes, I suppose you are. I like my tea very weak, please, with plenty of milk and no sugar.’
Caroline nervously clattered among the silver and china. She was not used to pouring out real tea for long-estranged uncles.
‘I hope you will enjoy yourselves here,’ said Uncle Charles, taking his cup; ‘and excuse me if I do not always join you at meals. I am engaged on a work—I mean I am writing a book,’ he told them.
‘What fun!’ said every one but Caroline, who had just burnt herself with the urn; and Charles added:
‘What’s it about?’
‘Magic,’ said the Uncle, ‘or, rather, a branch of magic. I thought of calling it “A Brief Consideration of the Psychological and Physiological Part played by Suggestion in So-called Magic.”’
‘It sounds interesting; at least I know it would if I knew anything about it,’ said Caroline, trying to be both truthful and polite.
‘It’s very long,’ said Charles. ‘How would you get all that printed on the book’s back?’
‘And don’t say “so-called,”’ said Charlotte. ‘It looks as if you didn’t believe in magic.’