“For a few minutes—for a few minutes,” said Nurse quickly, and Michael would not have been so very suspicious had he not observed the nodding of her head long after there was any need to nod it. “Is mother going to stay with us?” he asked. “Stay? Stay? Of course she’ll stay. Stay for ever,” asserted Nurse in her bustling voice. “Funny not to be here when the furniture came,” said Cook. “Yes, wasn’t it?” echoed Annie. “It _was_ funny. That’s what I thought. How funny, I thought.” “Not that I suppose things will be what you might call properly arranged just yet?” Cook speculated. “Everything arranged. Everything arranged,” Nurse snapped. “Nothing to arrange. Nothing to arrange.” And as if to stifle for ever any ability in Michael to ask questions, she proceeded to cram his mouth with a dessert-spoonful of rice pudding from her own plate, jarring his teeth with the spoon when she withdrew it. Then Michael’s lovely mother in vivid rose silk came into the room, and Cook squeezed herself backwards through the door very humbly and so quietly that Annie found herself alone before she realized the fact; so that in order to cover her confusion and assist her retreat she was compelled to snatch away Michael’s plate of rice pudding before he had finished the last few clotted grains. Michael was grateful to Annie for this, and he regarded her from that moment as an ally. Thenceforth he would often seek her out in what she called ‘her’ pantry, there to nibble biscuits, while Annie dried cups and swung them from brass hooks. “How cosy you all look,” said mother. “Darling Stella, are you enjoying your rice pudding? And, darling Michael,” she added, “I hope you’re being very good.” “Oh, yes,” said Nurse, “Good! Yes. He’s very good. Oh, yes. Tut-tut! Tut-tut!” After this exhalation of approval Nurse blew several breaths, leaned over him, pulled down his blue and white sailor-top, and elevated his chin with the back of her hand. “There’s no need to bother about the drawing-room or the dining-room or my bedroom or, in fact, any of the rooms except the night-nursery and the day-nursery. You’re quite straight in here. I shall be back by the end of June.” Nurse shook her head very violently at this, and Michael felt tears of apprehension welling up into his eyes. Mrs. Fane paused a moment doubtfully; then she waved beautiful slim gloves and glided from the room. Michael listened to delicate footsteps on the stairs, and the tinkle of small ornaments. A bleak silence followed the banging of the front door. “She’s gone away. I know she’s gone away,” he moaned. “Who’s She?” demanded Nurse. “She’s the cat’s mother.” “Mother! Mother!” he wailed. “She always goes away from Michael.” “And no wonder,” said Nurse. “Dear, dear! Yes—tut-tut!—but goodness gracious, she won’t be gone long. She’ll be back in June.” “What’s June?” Michael asked.