Valerie Dean, who was looking entrancingly pretty in a jersey-suit which exactly matched the blue of her eyes, had been taking stock of Mathilda's tweed coat and skirt, and had reached the conclusion that it did not become her. This made her feel friendly towards Mathilda, and she moved her chair nearer to the sofa, and began to talk to her. Stephen, who seemed to be making a real effort to behave nicely, joined in his uncle's conversation with Mottisfont, and Joseph, radiant now that his party looked like being a success after all, beamed on everyone impartially. So patent was his satisfaction that Mathilda's eyes began to twinkle again, and she offered, after tea, to help him to hang up his paper-chains.
"I'm glad you've come, Tilda," Joseph told her, as she gingerly mounted the rickety steps. "I do so want this party to go well."
"You're the World's Uncle, Joe," said Mathilda. "For God's sake, hang on to these steps! They feel most unsafe to me. Why did you want this family reunion?"
"Ah, you'll laugh at me if I tell you!" he said, shaking his head. "I think, if you hang your end just above that picture it would just reach to the chandelier. Then we could have another chain over to that corner."
"Just as you say, Santa Claus. But why the reunion?"
"Well, my dear, isn't it the season of goodwill, and isn't it all working out just as one hoped it would?"
"Depends what you hoped," said Mathilda, pressing a drawing-pin into the wall. "If you ask me, there'll be murder done before we're through. Nat's patience will never stand much of little Val."
"Bosh, Tilda!" said Joseph roundly. "Bosh and nonsense! There's no harm in the child, and I'm sure she's pretty enough to eat!"
Mathilda descended the steps. "I don't think that Nat prefers blondes," she said.
"Never mind! It doesn't matter what he thinks of poor little Val, after all. The main thing is that he shouldn't carry on a silly quarrel with old Stephen."