When Albert’s uncle returned he was very hot, with a beaded brow, but pale as the Dentist when the peas were at their worst.
‘Did you catch her?’ H. O. asked.
Albert’s uncle’s brow looked black as the cloud that thunder will presently break from. ‘No,’ he said.
‘Is she your long-lost nurse?’ H. O. went on, before we could stop him.
‘Long-lost grandmother! I knew the lady long ago in India,’ said Albert’s uncle, as he left the room, slamming the door in a way we should be forbidden to.
And that was the end of the Canterbury Pilgrimage.
As for the lady, we did not then know whether she was his long-lost grandmother that he had known in India or not, though we thought she seemed youngish for the part. We found out afterwards whether she was or not, but that comes in another part. His manner was not the one that makes you go on asking questions. The Canterbury Pilgriming did not exactly make us good, but then, as Dora said, we had not done anything wrong that day. So we were twenty-four hours to the good.
Note A.—Afterwards we went and saw real Canterbury. It is
very large. A disagreeable man showed us round the cathedral, and jawed
all the time quite loud as if it wasn’t a church. I remember one thing
he said. It was this:
‘This is the Dean’s Chapel; it was the Lady Chapel in the wicked days when people used to worship the Virgin Mary.’
And H. O. said, ‘I suppose they worship the Dean now?’