"For—eh?" She brought her sandy lashes together and studied him through them. "You're rarely going to stay then, you nice child?"
"Yes, Grandmother dear. Sir Peveril wants me. I've taken his hospital work; people are really extraordinarily kind to me!" Jim summarized.
"Oh, you've been vetted, there's no question of that," she agreed thoughtfully. They were at tea in her own drawing-room, which was crowded with articles handsome and hideous, Victorian lace tidies holding their own with really fine old furniture, and exquisite bits of oil or water colour sharing the walls with old steel engravings in cumbersome frames. Now Ivy leaned back in her chair, and stirred her tea, not speaking for a few minutes.
"There's just one thing," she said presently. "Before you come here to stay, put your house in order. Don't leave everything at haome in a narsty mess that'll have to be straightened aout later, if you know what I mean? Get that all straight, and have it understood, d'ye see?"
The colour came into Jim's face at so unexpected an attack, yet speech was a relief, too.
"I don't know whether I can straighten it out," he confessed, with a nervous laugh.
"It's not a divorce, eh?"
"No—not exactly."
"The gell's gone home to her people?"
"Yes." Jim cleared his throat. "Yes, she has."