“Better?” she repeated again indignantly. “It will be a long time before I’m better.”
She lowered her large, healthy frame into a chair, carefully selected a substantial piece of bread and butter and attacked it with vigour.
“I’m going to the post after tea,” said William’s mother. “Would you care to come with me?”
Aunt Emily took a large helping of jam.
“You hardly expect me to go out in the evening in my state of health, surely? It’s years since I went out after tea. And I was at the post office this morning. There were a lot of people there, but they served me first. I suppose they saw I looked ill.”
William’s father choked suddenly and apologised, but not humbly.
“Though I must say,” went on Aunt Emily, “this place does suit me. I think after a few months here I should be a little stronger. Pass the jam, William.”
The glance that William’s father fixed upon her would have made a stronger woman quail, but Aunt Emily was scraping out the last remnants of jam and did not notice.
“I’m a bit over-tired to-day, I think,” she went on. “I’m so apt to forget how weak I am and then I overdo it. I’m ready for the cake, William. I just sat out in the sun yesterday afternoon and sat a bit too long and over-tired myself. I ought to write letters after tea, but I don’t think I have the strength. Another piece of cake, William. I’ll go upstairs to rest instead, I think. I hope you’ll keep the house quiet. It’s so rarely that I can get a bit of sleep.”
William’s father left the room abruptly. William sat on and watched, with fascinated eyes, the cake disappear, and finally followed the large, portly figure upstairs and sat down in his room to plan the “show” and incidentally listen, with a certain thrilled awe, for the sounds from next door.