any aunt of mine, or I would go further and put it on record that she was giggling. And old Danby, who usually looked like a cross between a Roman emperor and Napoleon Bonaparte in a bad temper, was behaving like a small boy.
“Joe!”
“Julie!”
“Dear old Joe! Fancy meeting you again!”
“Wherever have you come from, Julie?”
Well, I didn’t know what it was all about, but I felt a bit out of it.
I butted in:
“Aunt Julia wants to have a talk with you, Mr. Danby.”
“I knew you in a second, Joe!”
“It’s twenty-five years since I saw you, kid, and you don’t look a day older.”
“Oh, Joe! I’m an old woman!”
“What are you doing over here? I suppose”—old Danby’s cheerfulness waned a trifle—“I suppose your husband