“I can’t afford a University education, I’m afraid. The boy himself wants to go into the Merchant Service. He failed for the Navy.”
“Well—it’s a hard life—but he might do worse. Yes, he might do worse.”
“I must be going,” I exclaimed, catching sight of the clock. “I’m nearly half an hour late for lunch.”
My family were just sitting down when I arrived. They demanded a full account of the morning’s activities, which I gave them, feeling, as I did so, that most of it was in the nature of an anticlimax.
Dennis, however, was highly entertained by the history of Mrs. Price Ridley’s telephone call, and went into fits of laughter as I enlarged upon the nervous shock her system had sustained and the necessity for reviving her with damson gin.
“Serve the old cat right,” he exclaimed. “She’s got the worst tongue in the place. I wish I’d thought of ringing her up and giving her a fright. I say, Uncle Len, what about giving her a second dose?”
I hastily begged him to do nothing of the sort. Nothing is more dangerous than the well-meant efforts of the younger generation to assist you and show their sympathy.
Dennis’s mood changed suddenly. He frowned and put on his man of the world air.
“I’ve been with Lettice most of the morning,” he said. “You know, Griselda, she’s really very worried. She doesn’t want to show it, but she is. Very worried indeed.”
“I should hope so,” said Griselda, with a toss of her head.
Griselda is not too fond of Lettice Protheroe.