“Aunt Edith is like Mrs Masterman, and looks as if she was left over from a hundred years ago. She always speaks of Basil as ‘_dear_ Basil’ or ‘_poor dear_ Basil,’ according as he has been over-working or over-spending, and she spends a great deal of time in church, and talks about the ‘poor dear clergyman’ and the ‘poor dear choir boys,’ and discusses a different guild every evening in the week. She has only two real ideas in the world—one is the church and the other is Basil; and they agree in one thing—they never stop asking her for money. Uncle is a sort of fixture, like the blinds or the kitchen range, but he doesn’t seem to mind so long as he can follow his profession in peace, and he is just the dearest and kindest man in the world.” “And how do you get on with Basil?” they asked again. “Well, I don’t get on at all,” and Paddy looked amused. “I don’t think we’re on speaking terms just now—we are not as a rule. Before I had been there a month I told him he was not fitted for anything but a dressed-up mummy in a tailor’s window, and a few other similar things, and for a time our relations were very strained. We indulge in home truths concerning each other so often that I find it difficult to remember when we are on speaking terms and when not. He is rather fond of making sarcastic reflections upon Irish dressmakers and countrified style, and of course I have to hit back from the shoulder for the sake of the old country.” They could not help laughing, but her mother quickly grew grave and looked a little anxious. “I hope you don’t carry it too far, my dear,” she said. “I would not like to hurt your uncle’s and aunt’s feelings after all their kindness.” “Don’t you be afraid, mother,” cheerfully. “Uncle enjoys it, and aunt doesn’t understand half we say. She generally misses the point, you see, and thinks I am paying Basil compliments. Uncle, on the other hand, sees that it is only his welfare I have at heart.” She then went on to tell them about Ted Masterman—all except the incident of the coin—and the doctor at the classes, and her friends the ’bus drivers, chattering away like her old self again for very happiness at having them all round her. They sat in a semicircle over the fire until late into the night, and finally went to bed too tired after their long day, and too pleased at being together again, to have time to be miserable. Only when they were alone Paddy asked Eileen if she had heard from Lawrence, and with a faint blush Eileen acknowledged that she had. After a moment’s hesitation she produced the letter and gave it to Paddy to read. “It is a nice one,” was all Paddy said, as she folded it up afterward. “He could always be nice if it happened to please him.”