“I’ve lost nothing. Mr. Superbus, my uncle is here——”
She was doubtful as to how she should go on. Should she take him entirely into her confidence? A wild idea, but not without its advantage.
“Relations,” the Roman pronounced, “are best apart. They come, they borrow money, they eat you out of house and home, and when they go, they haven’t a good word for you. Uncles especially. Leave him to me, ma’am; I’ll put the case to him man to man. He’ll be out of this house ...” he looked at his watch—“in five minutes.”
She enlightened him briefly: her uncle was a welcome visitor; a nice man, very much like Mr. Selsbury in appearance and as young. Only ... she tapped her forehead. Mr. Superbus understood.
“Tact,” he said, “tact and humour. Let ’em think they’re havin’ their way and then the iron hand in the velvet glove—an expression I invented myself,” he appended modestly. “Leave him to me. You couldn’t come to anybody better than me, ma’am. We’ve had several lunatics in our family”—Diana stepped back a pace—“and his good lady is here?”
“Aunt Lizzie.”
“That makes it a little awkward,” regretted Superbus, “owing to the difficulty of watching him when he’s asleep. Unless Aunt Lizzie would mind? I am a family man.”
“She might object,” said Diana. “No, I don’t think that you need do that. If you can keep a general eye on him. He must not leave the house on any excuse.”
Mr. Superbus smiled.
“You needn’t worry about that, ma’am,” he said.