“We shared a bedroom, Alice, didn’t we? I got into your bed once, when I was frightened at night. There was a box made of shells on the dressing-table, do you remember? Mother gave it to us at the seaside.”
She laughed; her laugh was almost tender.
“I used to pull your hair, Alice,” said Bertie.
They were suddenly confident that Alice would do them no harm.
“Forty years,” said Lydia, looking down the table at them.
“A waste of time,” said Bertie, “when we were brother and sisters together. But you’ve paid us out, Alice, you’ve paid us out.”
“Not yet,” said Lydia, “not fully.”
“I daresay I should have done the same myself,” said Bertie’s wife, surprisingly. “After all, it was a joke, Alice; why not take Alice’s joke in good part?” She looked round, as though she had made a discovery.
“If you prefer,” said Lydia, unmoved.
“Ha, ha!” said Fred, and was suddenly silent.