The bedroom was large and dim. At the far end lay Great-Aunt Jane, propped up in a high old-fashioned bed. The nurse took them across.
"I only wanted to see William," said Great-Aunt Jane feebly. "The other need not have come. So this is Margaret's youngest, is it? I've seen the others, Robert and Ethel. But I hadn't seen this one. I didn't want to die without seeing all my family. He's not as beautiful as Francis, but he's less fat. Do you trail clouds of glory, William? Francis trails clouds of glory."
"Clouds of fat more like," said William, who was beginning to be bored by the whole affair. Great-Aunt Jane closed her eyes.
"I'm going to rest a little," she said. "You can stay here and get me anything I want while nurse goes to have her tea."
The nurse went.
Great-Aunt Jane fell asleep.
William and Francis were left alone in the dim bedroom, sitting on chairs, one on each side of the big bed as the nurse had placed them. The silence grew oppressive. William fidgeted, then opened hostilities.
"Hello, Fatty!" he whispered over Great-Aunt Jane's recumbent form.
"'F you call me that again," whispered Francis, "I'll tell my mother."
"'F you went telling tales of me, I'd pull your long hair off."