Mrs. Maxwell had an irritating habit, when any member of the household was talking on the phone, of offering suggestions and making amendments to their remarks, during the pauses while the person at the other end was speaking. She did so now: “Tell him the numbers, Lavvy--that may help him--it always helps ’em to know the numbers. And say they’re clean ones. That makes a difference, because the clean ones don’t stick so, greasy things some of them are, disgraceful, I always say----” “_Mother!_” Ursula now, answering the appeal in Nina’s eyes. Nina did not want to be heard by Lill Fraser rebuking her mother twice running; but it was so awfully ill-bred, the oblivious way she ran on and on. “Hello. No. I am so sorry for your trouble, but there has been no mistake. I counted them, only five--and my cheque was for five pounds.... Yes, Mr. Hal Maxwell brought them. I had asked him to cash the cheque for me.... Yes, he’s here.... With pleasure--it is just possible----” “Turn your pockets out, Hal,” laughed Nina. “You’re under a cloud.” But Aunt Lavvy’s serene face was slightly disturbed as once again she turned round. “Hal dear, would you mind making quite sure that you have not a hole in your pocket, or a Bradbury sticking between the coat and the lining ... something like that. The young man is so persistent. It is foolish of me, but any trouble with the bank always makes me uneasy, especially when we know Mr. Fennimore so well.” “This wasn’t old Fennimore himself though--it was the man he always sends over for this branch.” Hal was rummaging energetically in his pockets. “Hullo, here’s--no, it’s only an old letter.” One that Dorothy had written him. He was slightly flushed as he crumpled it back into his pocket. “Sorry, Aunt Lavvy, no luck.” “I’m afraid we can’t help you to put your mistake right. Neither I nor Mr. Hal Maxwell have got the extra pound note,” said Aunt Lavvy into the mouthpiece. She emphasized her words with rather more bell-like precision than usual, and replaced the receiver with a sharp little click. Mrs. Maxwell let slip the bonds from her checked rush of indignation. “Really, Lavvy, I don’t wonder you’re annoyed. It’s as though they suspected you, ringing up like that. Really, I wonder you were so polite, considering it was their own carelessness. And when we’ve invited Mr. Fennimore to supper tomorrow--I’m sorry I told Tom sherry as well as port. Well, it’s very unpleasant. Let’s talk about something else. How do you like your new house, Mrs. Fraser?” The conversation, thus manipulated, creaked protestingly at the lack of skill. “So jolly sporting of you to put up with Nina.” “If only Mother wouldn’t use slang,” groaned Nina to herself; and Aunt Lavvy, more discriminating, thought: “If only poor Florrie didn’t try to please Nina by using slang.”