"What sort of an idea had Aunt Alice given you of me?"
"Quite unintentionally," Elizabeth said, "she made you sound rather a worm. Not a crawling worm, you understand, but a worm that reared an insolent head, that would think it a horrid bore to visit a manse in Glasgow—a side-y worm."
"Good Lord," said Mr. Townshend, stooping to pick up Elizabeth's needlework which in her excitement had fallen on the rug, "this is not Aunt Alice——"
"No," said Elizabeth, "it's my own wickedness. The fact is, I was jealous—Aunt Alice seemed so devoted to you, and quoted you, and admired everything about you so much, and I thought that in praising you she was 'lychtlying' my brothers, so of course I didn't like you. Yes, that's the kind of jealous creature I am."
The door opened, and Ellen came in with a tray on which stood glasses, a jug of milk, a syphon, and a biscuit-box. She laid it on a table beside her mistress and asked if anything else was needed and on being told "No," said good-night and made her demure exit.
"Pretend you've known me seven years, and put a log on the fire," Elizabeth asked her guest.
He did as he was bid, and remained standing at the mantelpiece looking at the picture which hung above it.
"Your mother, isn't it?" he asked. "She was beautiful; Aunt Alice has often told me of her."
He looked in silence for a minute, and then went back to his chair and lit another cigarette.
"I never knew my mother, and I only remember my father dimly. I was only her husband's nephew, but Aunt Alice has had to stand for all my home-people, and no one knows except myself how successful she has been."