Having by this positive and sharp statement disposed of the question of
Mrs Hamps's age, he bent again with eagerness to his newspaper. The
"Manchester Examiner" no longer existing as a Radical organ, he read the
"Manchester Guardian," of which that morning's issue contained a long
and vivid obituary of Charles Stewart Parnell.

Brother and sister were at breakfast. Edwin had changed the character
of this meal. He went fasting to business at eight o'clock, opened
correspondence, and gave orders to the wonderful Stifford, a person now
of real importance in the firm, and at nine o'clock flew by car back to
the house to eat bacon and eggs and marmalade leisurely, like a
gentleman. It was known that between nine and ten he could not be seen
at the shop.

"Well," Maggie continued, with her mild persistence, "Aunt Spenser told
me--"

"Who's Aunt Spenser, in God's name?"

"You know--mother's and auntie's cousin--the fat old thing!"

"Oh! Her!" He recalled one of the unfamiliar figures that had bent
over his father's coffin.

"She told me auntie was either fifty-five or fifty-six, at father's
funeral. And that's nearly three and a half years ago. So she must
be--"

"Two and a half, you mean." Edwin interrupted with a sort of
savageness.

"No, I don't. It's nearly three years since Mrs Nixon died."

Edwin was startled to realise the passage of time. But he said nothing.
Partly he wanted to read in peace, and partly he did not want to admit
his mistake. Bit by bit he was assuming the historic privileges of the
English master of the house. He had the illusion that if only he could
maintain a silence sufficiently august his error of fact and of manner
would cease to be an error.

"Yes; she must be fifty-nine," Maggie resumed placidly.

"I don't care if she's a hundred and fifty-nine!" snapped Edwin. "Any
more coffee? Hot, that is."

Without moving his gaze from the paper, he pushed his cup a little way
across the table.

Maggie took it, her chin slightly lifting, and her cheeks showing a
touch of red.

"I hope you didn't forget to order the inkstand, after all," she said
stiffly. "It's not been sent up yet, and I want to take it down to
auntie's myself this morning. You know what a lot she thinks of such
things!"

It had been arranged that Auntie Hamps should receive that year a
cut-glass double inkstand from her nephew and niece. The shop
occasionally dealt in such articles. Edwin had no