Perhaps the dinner had mellowed her humor a little, for:
"You may smoke," she nodded to David, "provided it isn't one of those nasty little cigarettes."
"It will have to be a pipe."
"A pipe is the least objectionable," she graciously conceded. "Your late Uncle John smoked one to the last."
Then she produced and donned a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and through them fixed upon David the sternest of glances.
"And now, since I must leave in the morning, let us get to business.
You may tell me the situation."
"What situation have you in mind?"
"The one that made you write to me for help."
"But I didn't write to you for help."
"Shirley did, which is the same thing."