‘Henry! Henry!’ said Caroline warningly. Henry did not say it. He threw the cushion out of his chair, glared at Laura, and turned away his head.
For some time Titus’s attempts at speech had hovered above the tumult, like one holy appeasing dove loosed after the other. The last dove was luckier. It settled on Laura.
‘How nice of you to have a donkey. Will it be a grey donkey, like Madam?’
‘Do you remember dear Madam, then?’
‘Of course I remember dear Madam. I can remember everything that happened to me when I was four. I rode in one pannier, and you, Marion, rode in the other. And we went to have tea in Potts’s Dingle.’
‘With sponge cakes and raspberry jam, do you remember?’
‘Yes. And milk surging in a whisky bottle. Will you have thatch or slate, Aunt Lolly? Slate is very practical.’
‘Thatch is more motherly. Anyhow, I shall have a pump.’
‘Will it be an indoor or an outdoor pump? I ask, for I hope to pump on it quite often.’
‘You will come to stay with me, won’t you, Titus?’