“Delighted, my dear Clementina.”
“Good-bye.”
She rang off, and rushed upstairs to make a fool of herself over Sheila, who, already put to bed, lay awake in anticipation of Clementina’s good-night cuddle.
“When you go to stay with your uncle, I wonder whether he’ll spoil you like this.”
“You’ll come too,” said Sheila, sedately, “and then you can go on spoiling me.”
“Lord preserve us!” cried Clementina. “What a scandal in Russell Square!”
Towards ten o’clock Tommy made his appearance. The daily calls to inquire after her health and happiness had grown to be a sacred observance. But as the studio was rigorously closed to him during the daylight hours his visits were vespertilian. If she wanted him, she told him to stay. If she didn’t, she sent him about his business. He had got into the habit of kissing her, nephew fashion, when they met and parted. She liked the habit now, for she felt that the boy loved her very dearly. And in an aunt-like, and very satisfying and comfortful way, she, too, loved him with all her heart.
“Can I stay?”
She nodded. He removed the set palette from the chair on to which she had cast it when Vandermeer was announced, and sat down.
“What have you been doing with yourself?”