Aunt Jane had her quiet moments. From the first there had always been between her and her listeners that electrical sympathy which only a certain order of genius seems able to create. \"Cool. She understood. One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms. "Leave the room," interposed Kneebone, angrily. ‘What is it?’ ‘Er—shouldn’t I tell—I mean, the young lady, sir—’ ‘You can leave the young lady to me. I want you to be clear what you’re really and truly up to, anyhow. You can have no shecrets from me. It’s for you to say if I may sit on it. ” She raked into the fire with the poker.
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