"In yourself?" asked Nellie gently.
"In Aunt Sophy. I—I don't much like to be made fun of, Nellie."
"I was trying to cheer you up, as this is not Miss Sophy's funeral. Don't worry about the dear lady; she is perfectly well and thoroughly happy; her health has been much better since we came to Highfield; and I shall be quite astonished if she doesn't live another twenty years. She is a great admirer of the giant tortoise—"
"He's over five hundred years old," cried George in anguish.
"That makes Miss Yard the smallest kind of infant."
"If she lives another two years, I must give her notice. I cannot have her upsetting all my plans—though I quite agree with you she is a dear old lady."
"Plan number two!" cried Nellie.
"That concerns myself," said George.
"You should have been number one," she said reproachfully.
"I had to put Aunt Sophy first, because I cannot arrange my own future while she occupies the house. I don't want to say too much about myself."