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238 country would look charming; well, Piccadilly looked charming too, and she found a better music at the Opera, or even in the clip-clop of horses' hoofs over the wooden pavements, than in the song of birds. She envied the birds, though; they could lay eggs.

Edgar welcomed her at the door. She had motored down from town, and at once began to be tiresome, directing the chauffeur to bring the car quite up to the step, so that she might get out more easily. He offered her his arm, too, up the flight that led to the front door, behind which, gleaming in the light of the setting sun, Lucia saw the spectacles of Aunt Cathie.

"My darling, and you have made the journey without fatigue, I hope," said Edgar. "Not got chilly with the car open? I wish you had shut it. And I have had the punt repaired; you can float about on the lake, as you used to like to do."

This was worse than Lucia had expected. He had a bedsid manner already. But for her own sake she meant to make best of things.

"Ah, that is charming of you," she said. "And Aunt Cathie has arrived. Do let us have tea at once—I am so hungry. Ah, dear Aunt Cathie, how nice to see you!"

Lucia congratulated herself anew that she had thought of this tender, charming plan of getting Aunt Cathie to stay with them. She was so lonely in Brixham—and Edgar would have been quite dreadful if she was alone with him. Even now he was distinc trying; his eye sparkled when she said she was hungry.

"Oh, dearest, have an egg with your tea!" he said, "They will boil one in a minute."

"Then it would be quite raw," said Lucia. "Dear Edgar, do—do pull yourself together. What's the matter? Pour out tea, Aunt Cathie, will you? It's quite like the Brixham tea-parties when Edgar used to motor over and stop to dinner."

Aunt Cathie's face made a sudden odd contraction. Instantly Lucia remembered. There had been four at these tea-parties. But why why make a face months afterwards, when it was only by indirect reference that the spectacle of the tea-parties was recalled? Besides, Lucia felt sure that Aunt Cathie had been much happier really after her sister's death than she had been for at least a year before. Elizabeth had always been querulous and tiresome; she had in her last illness, which was also her first, become unspeakable. Lucia had gone to see her once—no, twice—and she had complained, complained, complained the whole