He looked up. They were beginning to brighten. Cyril slapped his knee. “Of course,” he said, “it was meringues. How could I have forgotten? Yes, Aunt Josephine, you’re perfectly right. Father’s most frightfully keen on meringues.” They didn’t only beam. Aunt Josephine went scarlet with pleasure; Auntie Con gave a deep, deep sigh. “And now, Cyril, you must come and see father,” said Josephine. “He knows you were coming to-day.” “Right,” said Cyril, very firmly and heartily. He got up from his chair; suddenly he glanced at the clock. “I say, Auntie Con, isn’t your clock a bit slow? I’ve got to meet a man at—at Paddington just after five. I’m afraid I shan’t be able to stay very long with grandfather.” “Oh, he won’t expect you to stay _very_ long!” said Aunt Josephine. Constantia was still gazing at the clock. She couldn’t make up her mind if it was fast or slow. It was one or the other, she felt almost certain of that. At any rate, it had been. Cyril still lingered. “Aren’t you coming along, Auntie Con?” “Of course,” said Josephine, “we shall all go. Come on, Con.” IX They knocked at the door, and Cyril followed his aunts into grandfather’s hot, sweetish room. “Come on,” said Grandfather Pinner. “Don’t hang about. What is it? What’ve you been up to?” He was sitting in front of a roaring fire, clasping his stick. He had a thick rug over his knees. On his lap there lay a beautiful pale yellow silk handkerchief. “It’s Cyril, father,” said Josephine shyly. And she took Cyril’s hand and led him forward. “Good afternoon, grandfather,” said Cyril, trying to take his hand out of Aunt Josephine’s. Grandfather Pinner shot his eyes at Cyril in the way he was famous for. Where was Auntie Con? She stood on the other side of Aunt Josephine; her long arms hung down in front of her; her hands were clasped. She never took her eyes off grandfather. “Well,” said Grandfather Pinner, beginning to thump, “what have you got to tell me?” What had he, what had he got to tell him? Cyril felt himself smiling like a perfect imbecile. The room was stifling, too. But Aunt Josephine came to his rescue. She cried brightly, “Cyril says his father is still very fond of meringues, father dear.” “Eh?” said Grandfather Pinner, curving his hand like a purple meringue-shell over one ear. Josephine repeated, “Cyril says his father is still very fond of meringues.” “Can’t hear,” said old Colonel Pinner. And he waved Josephine away with his stick, then pointed with his stick to Cyril. “Tell me what she’s trying to say,” he said. (My God!) “Must I?” said Cyril, blushing and staring at Aunt Josephine. “Do, dear,” she smiled. “It will please him so much.” “Come on, out with it!” cried Colonel Pinner testily, beginning to thump again. And Cyril leaned forward and yelled, “Father’s still very fond of meringues.” At that Grandfather Pinner jumped as though he had been shot. “Don’t shout!” he cried. “What’s the matter with the boy? _Meringues!_ What about ’em?”