Uncle Dickie resumed his narrative. He was enjoying the society of his hostess. Prompted by her smiling responses he had passed from one story to another, sometimes abandoning one before he reached its climax. But as Mary knew them all by heart that did not matter much and was perhaps more entertaining. He had told the story of the bull-pup at Highwold and the gardener's son, and of the ghost seen by Sir Michael Seton's great grandfather ... or was it great grand-uncle? He was not quite sure ... getting an old man, and Mary must not expect his memory to be as good as once it had been ... well, perhaps great-grandfather of the present Sir Charles....
Mary accepted each tale serenely, dispensing appropriate answers with the same unflurried precision as she dispensed second cups of tea to their rightful owners.
Ursula leaned forward and picked a cocoa-nut bun from the plate before her. She bit off a little circle with her white teeth and ate it slowly before she turned to Toby Foster.
"Why does Uncle Dickie tell all those awful old chestnuts?" she asked.
Toby cocked his head. Being the only professional member of the family he had a reputation for wit, and felt that something good was expected of him.
"Because, my dear lady, I expect he has learnt that in the telling of stories, as in other things, it is more blessed to give than to receive."
Uncle Dickie was only deaf enough to ask people to repeat phrases whose repetition might embarrass them. The fear that he might miss any of the good things of life haunted him ceaselessly. He stopped suddenly and turned round.
"What's that? What's that? Some one mention me? Hey?"
The family was silent till Mary turned to him smiling. "Cousin Toby was only saying—though I don't think you were meant to hear—that you were one of those people who have learnt that it is more blessed to give than to receive."
"Stuff and nonsense!" Uncle Dickie threw out his chest like a cock-sparrow. The room was warm; the meat had been tender; Mary enjoyed his stories. After all, in spite of his eighty-seven years, he was still an entertaining companion. It occurred to him at last that his family's declared affection might arise from appreciation of his good qualities rather than from expected enjoyment of his bank balance.