"This is George, our nephew. He does nothing for a living," said the widow severely.
"Our nephew," repeated Miss Yard, in her earnest fashion. "His name is Percy, and he came to see me last year, but he seems to have altered a great deal. What is it he does for a living?"
"Nothing whatever," said Mrs. Drake.
"I've got a weak back," George mumbled.
"He's got a weak back, Maria. He must try red flannel and peppermint plasters," said Miss Yard with barbaric simplicity.
"Stuff and nonsense! He's got the back of a whale, if he'd only use it. This is not Percy, our real nephew, who for some reason never comes near me, but my nephew by marriage. He's not your nephew really."
"I'm sorry for that. I like nephews, because they visit me sometimes. What's the name of this place, Maria?"
"Highfield, and it's eight hundred feet above the sea," said George, in a great hurry to change the subject.
"I hope it's somewhere in the south of England. The doctor told me I was not to go near Yorkshire," said Miss Yard.
"You are in Devonshire, just upon the edge of Dartmoor," George explained.