Aunt Emma wept when a thin-voiced youth sang, “Don’t neglect your mother ’cause her hair is getting grey,” became hysterical with amusement over, “I’m a gay old bachelor widow.” Rosalind found herself enjoying the enjoyment of the old lady, and when they came out into daylight, and went across the way to a noble establishment, where they had high tea, the two were on excellent terms with each other, and information regarding small scandals of Penshurst was placed freely at Rosalind’s disposal. The old lady spoke in an awed whisper when she came to the people at the Court, and arrested a slice of ham on her fork, as though sensible of the demands of etiquette when dealing with the upper classes. “You’re not married, my dear,” said Aunt Emma, loosening the strings of her bonnet and allowing it to fall to the back of her head in an elegant way, “or else I could speak more free, as you may say, on the subject. That grandmother of hers—” The old lady pursed her lips, and glanced at her reflection in the mirrored walls with a pained shake of the head. “But,” urged Rosalind, perturbed by the aunt’s confident manner of prophecy, “Lady Frances, I understand, is engaged to a lieutenant out in North Africa.” “Then sooner he comes back,” shaking a spoon threateningly, “sooner he comes back the better. I don’t want to go opening my old mouth too wide, or else like enough I shall go and put my foot in it. I’ve said all I want to say, and I don’t want folk to turn round arterwards and say to me, ‘Why didn’t you give us warnin’?’ Strikes me, my dear, we might have drop more hot water with this yere tea.” “Do you know her uncle at all?” “I know _of_ him. I used to be upper housemaid at the Court.” “And what—” “I don’t think no worse of him,” said Aunt Emma in a slow, careful, and judicial manner, “I don’t think no worse of him than what he’s thought worse of.” “I see,” said Rosalind doubtfully. The girl was silent for a few moments. She looked at the walnut face of Erb’s aunt, at the elderly dimple beside the mouth, she watched the old lady’s cautious way of munching food. “What you thinking of, my dear?” “Nothing, nothing,” said Rosalind, arousing herself. “You won’t ’spect me to finish up these yere bits I hope,” said Aunt Emma, looking at the crusts by the side of her plate. “My teeth ain’t what they was when I was your age. Ah,” with a sigh, “that seems long time ago.” “You have never been married, have you?” “Could ha’ been,” said the old lady shortly. “’Twarnt for want of being asked.” “Why, of course not.” “Only chap I ever wanted,” she said reminiscently, “I let him go and get snapped up by someone else; silly bit of a gel that I was. I tell ye what ’tis!” People at the neighbouring tables were listening, and Rosalind touched her wrinkled hand gently to call her attention to the fact.