Nina, bursting open the door in her search for Aunt Lavvy, had thrown a look of disgust at the “schoolroom mess” present, and rushed out again. Lottie asked if she might carry up a cup of tea and some cake to poor Hal. Aunt Lavvy’s face became smooth and uninterested. But Miss Roberts, to Ursula’s horror, gave assent: “Do, dear, that will be very nice of you.” “You’re not to, Lottie,” Ursula cried passionately. “Really, Ursula----” “She’s only curious. Let her take Mother a cup if she wants a canteen job.” Aunt Lavvy said, with the faint lisp in her voice a little more assertive than usual: “Do you know, Lottie darling, I’d have given you the job of bringing my tea upstairs if I’d only had a little sitting-room of my own. Food in one’s bedroom is not very tempting, is it? But just today----” She sighed. Then smiled bravely, with the corners of her mouth--not with all of it--when Miss Roberts sympathetically asked whether she had a headache, and replied: “No, I mustn’t indulge myself by pretending I have. The headache pose is fatally tempting to old ladies. You’ll know one day, Miss Roberts.” “That was meant for Mother,” reflected Ursula; “and sending Miss Roberts down for stronger tea--she’s never done it before--was to impress Gums and the servants that she has a right to it because she pays.” Ursula was making the same discovery as erstwhile Hal had made. “‘Just today’ was a stinger for Hal. And ‘the little sitting-room of her own’ she aimed at----” Ursula, subconsciously, winced with fear. “Are you going to split on Hal to the Bank?” she asked, wondering what made her voice sound so noisy. Again that curious glassy obstinacy passed over Aunt Lavvy’s usually mobile prettiness. She replied nothing, but with careful selection she put aside the slices of the Swiss Roll and cut herself a piece from the uncut portion. “Ursula, really, this is going too far. This is disloyal. When your Aunt Lavvy is doing her best to behave as though nothing had happened----” “Why should she? Something _has_ happened. But it’ll be like that all the time, I know. Mother will come down to dinner trying to look as though she hadn’t cried, and we’ll all look as though of course she hadn’t. And Father will simply shut up and not play. He’s never supposed to join in when the rest of us pretend. And Grace will talk tactfully to Stanley about the babies, and how town is looking, and her tea-party, and the leaves falling. And Gums will ‘draw out’ Lottie, and we’ll all of us not stare at Hal, and feel beastlier than we’ve ever felt before, and goodness knows what Nina and Bunny will do, because I haven’t seen them since it happened. But it might be a bit better--not much, but a bit--if we could all be as glum as we liked.”