Aunt Agatha looked at me coldly.
“Do you positively mean to tell me, Bertie, that you take so little interest in the affairs of your nearest relatives that you are not aware that Claude and Eustace were expelled from Oxford over a fortnight ago?”
“No, really?”
“You are hopeless, Bertie. I should have thought that even you——”
“Why were they sent down?”
“They poured lemonade on the Junior Dean of their college.... I see nothing amusing in the outrage, Bertie.”
“No, no, rather not,” I said hurriedly. “I wasn’t laughing. Choking. Got something stuck in my throat, you know.”
“Poor Emily,” went on Aunt Agatha, “being one of those doting mothers who are the ruin of their children, wished to keep the boys in London. She suggested that they might cram for the Army. But I was firm. The Colonies are the only place for wild youths like Eustace and Claude. So they sail on Friday. They have been staying for the last two weeks with your Uncle Clive in Worcestershire. They will spend to-morrow night in London and catch the boat-train on Friday morning.”
“Bit risky, isn’t it? I mean, aren’t they apt to cut loose a bit to-morrow night if they’re left all alone in London?”
“They will not be alone. They will be in your charge.”