‘Yes. I’m-terribly sorry,’ she said a little huskily. ‘Miss Graham’s secretary is a bit careless. I suppose she must have typed the wrong day.’

‘Well, of course, one doesn’t want to be unreasonable, but one does feel one has the right to expect a certain amount of accuracy about things like dates,’ Aunt Lydia said plaintively, with an air of fastening full responsibility on Alison. ‘It’s most terribly inconvenient, and I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.’

‘She speaks as though this were a three-roomed cottage,’ thought Alison. She felt desperately, sickeningly forlorn. It was really rather ridiculous to pretend that one inconspicuous niece made such a difference in this enormous house.

‘Well, sit down, child, now you’re here. Did you have a good journey?’ And then, before Alison could reply, she added, ‘Now, what am I going to do with you? You see, I have two very busy days in front of me, and I think I’m just going to have to ask you to make yourself quite scarce for the time being.’

‘Yes. I don’t mind. Really, I don’t mind.’ Alison was eager to make up for her resentment of a minute ago.

Her aunt smiled slightly but without a trace of warmth. ‘Like one of those electric fires that look like burning logs,’ thought Alison angrily, ‘and then when you hold out your hands to them there’s no heat at all.’

‘You had better have your tea in the schoolroom with Theo and Audrey,’ said Aunt Lydia thoughtfully. ‘Then there is your unpacking to do, and it won’t hurt you a bit to go to bed early to-night. In fact, the rest will do you good after your long journey.’

‘Are Theo and Audrey the twins?’ Alison asked.

‘Yes. They are nearly eleven now, you know. They both came home from school yesterday. Audrey fancies herself as something of an enfant terrible, I believe, but Theo is quite a nice child when Audrey doesn’t put ideas into his head.’

Aunt Lydia spoke as though they were the offspring of some remote acquaintance.

Just then the door opened and a tall, grey-haired man came in. Her aunt’s, ‘Oh, hello, Theodore,’ told her this must be her uncle, but she thought with surprise that he was not at all like the money-making Uncle Theodore of her imagination.

Thin, and with a rather long, melancholy face, he had much more the air of a student than of a successful financier. He stooped a little and had a slight air of perpetual weariness. But perhaps making enough money to satisfy Aunt Lydia was a weary business, thought Alison with youthful shrewdness.

‘Here is Alison arrived two days too early, Theodore,’ said Aunt Lydia. ‘It’s very inconvenient, but I suppose one must make the best of it.’

‘I don’t see why it should be inconvenient,’ retorted her husband a little disagreeably. ‘The house is surely big enough. How do you do, Alison?’ And even the formal politeness with which he took Alison’s hand was welcome after Aunt Lydia ’s utter lack of interest in her.

‘Thank you-I had a very good journey,’ Alison told him.

‘Well, it seems to me it is quite a good thing that you arrived to-day,’ her uncle said. ‘Now you’ll be in time for Rosalie’s party or dance or whatever it is she’s having this evening.’

Alison was aware of a peculiar quality in the few seconds’ silence which followed that. Then her aunt said smoothly, ‘I think Alison will be too tired after her journey to bother about parties on her first evening.’

‘Nonsense, my dear.’ Uncle Theodore’s voice was quite as smooth in return, and Alison was astounded to realise the current of antagonism running between her uncle and aunt. ‘A four hours’ journey couldn’t possibly tire anyone of Alison’s age. What is she? Nineteen? Twenty? Just the age to enjoy a party, and it’s a good opportunity for her to get to know the young set that come here.’

Aunt Lydia pressed her lips together, and Alison saw that she had no wish whatever for her niece to ‘get to know the young set’ or come to Rosalie’s party, or, in fact, do anything except make herself quite scarce, as she herself had said.

Alison was by nature rather slow to anger, but she had a streak of obstinacy that could do queer things with her usually sweet temper. And that streak began to make itself felt now, fortified by Uncle Theodore’s obvious disapproval of her aunt’s meanness. So that when her aunt said, ‘I don’t expect the child has a suitable dress or anything,’ she replied impulsively:

‘Yes, I have, Aunt Lydia, and I’d love to go to the party.’

After all, there was the dress she had worn at the last prize-giving. It wasn’t new, of course, but she did look nice in it.

‘Very well,’ Aunt Lydia said, and no one could have guessed-or, at least, Alison could not-whether she were annoyed or completely indifferent.

Without any further protest, she took her niece upstairs, first of all to the small but quite attractive, light room which was to be hers, and then along to what she called the schoolroom, where the twins were already having their tea.

‘Here is your cousin Alison,’ she explained, with that little smile which did not warm her eyes. ‘She is going to keep an eye on you during the holidays. I’ve noticed that you both need it. She will have her meals with you and go out with you when you go for walks, and so on.’

Then she turned to Alison again, as she stood there listening silently to this catalogue of her duties.

‘You had better make a good tea with the children now,’ she said. ‘Your uncle will be out this evening, and Rosalie and I shall be having something light in our own rooms, so there won’t be any proper dinner. Come down about half-past eight-if you’re quite sure you want to come.’

And, without any further attempt to make her niece feel at home, she went out, leaving Alison and the two children to take stock of each other.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, and then Audrey said darkly, ‘I hope you aren’t going to spoil our holidays.’

But Alison was on familiar ground now, and knew how to deal with difficult little girls.

‘I hope not,’ she agreed. ‘And I hope you’re not going to spoil mine either. I’m only just home from school myself, and I’m as glad as you are that it’s holidays.’

‘Oh.’ Audrey looked extremely taken aback. ‘But you look quite old for school. How old are you?’

‘I think she isn’t young enough to be asked,’ observed Theo mildly.

Alison laughed. ‘I don’t mind. I’m nearly twenty… And I’m simply starving,’ she added.

‘Well, come and have tea,’ Audrey said with a faint show of cordiality, and Theo asked politely, ‘Shall I make you some toast?’

‘He nearly always burns it,’ Audrey interjected scornfully.

‘Never mind. I like it well done,’ Alison said, and watched, rather touched, while the little boy hacked a slice off the loaf with great solemnity and stuck it on the end of a toasting-fork.

‘They’re nice children, really,’ she thought. ‘And I’d rather have tea with them than with Aunt Lydia.’

They were a good deal alike-pale and stocky, with nondescript hair and well-set blue eyes, but without a trace of their mother’s beauty. They must have been something of a shock to her after the lovely Rosalie, Alison reflected absently.

But they were willing to be friendly, and to Alison, whose heart had been aching badly, that was extremely sweet.

‘Are you going to Rosalie’s party?’ Audrey asked, as they sat eating buttered toast and drinking milky tea.

‘Y-yes,’ Alison admitted a little doubtfully.

‘I suppose that’s because you’re a relation and not really a governess.’ Audrey spoke with an air of knowing all about the social arrangements of the household.

‘I suppose so.’

‘Have you got a nice dress?’ was the next question.

‘Fairly nice.’ Alison was beginning to wonder about the suitability of her dress after all.

‘It’s best not to have a very nice one,’ was Theo’s startling comment.