"Thank you. Ruth says it is a face like a very expensive cat."
"Nonsense. At least-not the furry kind. Oh, I know what she means! The long-necked, short-haired kind that show their small chins. Heraldic cats. Yes, Bee, darling, you have a face like a heraldic cat. Especially when you keep your head still and slide your eyes at people." She put her cup down and sighed again with pleasure. "I can't think how the Nonconformists have failed to discover coffee."
"Discover it?"
"Yes. As a snare. It does far more for one than drink. And yet no one preaches about it, or signs pledges about it. Five mouthfuls and the world looks rosy."
"Was it very grey before?"
"A sort of mud colour. I was so happy this week because it was the first week this year that we hadn't needed sitting-room fires and I had no fires to do and no fireplaces to clean. But nothing-I repeat, nothing-will stop George from throwing his used matches into the fireplace. And as he takes fifteen matches to light one pipe — ! The room swarms with waste-paper baskets and ash trays, but no, George must use the fireplace. He doesn't even aim, blast him. A fine careless flick of the wrist and the match lands anywhere from the fender to the farthest coal. And they have all got to be picked out again."
"And he says: why don't you leave them."
"He does. However, now that I've had some Latchetts coffee I have decided not to take a chopper to him after all."
"Poor Nan. These Christians."
"How are the coming-of-age preparations getting on?"