“That’s it,” said Aunt Aggie, settling herself comfortably into the large arm-chair near the fireplace. “Thinking of yourself, Henry, of course. Learn to be unselfish or you’ll never be happy in this world. I remember when I was a girl—”
“Look here!” Henry interrupted. “Has Philip been here this afternoon?”
“Mr. Mark? Yes, he has.”
“Did he come to tea?”
“Yes.”
She dug her needles viciously into an innocent ball of wool.
“Yes,” said Henry fiercely, “that’s why they had it early, I suppose—and why I don’t get any—of course.”
“All I know is,” continued Aunt Aggie, “that he’s put your grandfather into the most dreadful state. He was alone in here with him it seems, and I’m sure I don’t know what he’s said to him, but it upset him dreadfully. I’ve not been well myself to-day, and to have your grandfather—”
But Henry again interrupted.
“What did he want coming to-day at all for? He might have waited.”