“But she would have liked it,” said Ursula unhappily. “She was so fond of Douglas.”

“And not so proud of me. From what you’ve heard already, Mr. Alleyn, you’ll have gathered that my popularity had waned. I wasn’t a good enough yes-man for Flossie. I hadn’t responded too well to her terrifying ministrations when she nursed me, and she didn’t really like my friendship with Uncle Arthur.”

“That’s nonsense,” Ursula said. “Honestly, darling, it’s the purest bilge. She told me it was so nice for Uncle Arthur having you to talk to.”

“You old innocent,” he said, “of course she did. She disliked it intensely. It was something outside the Flossie System, something she wasn’t in on. I was very fond of my Uncle Arthur,” Fabian said thoughtfully, “he was a good vintage, dry, with a nice bouquet. Wasn’t he, Terry?”

“You’re straying from the point,” said Terence.

“Right. After Ursy and I had come to our decision I tried to be very non-committal and unexalted, but I suppose I made a poor fist at it. I was — translated. I’m afraid,” said Fabian abruptly, “that all this is intolerably egotistical but I don’t see how that can be avoided. At any rate, Flossie spotted something was up. That eye of hers! You do get a hint of it in the portrait. It was sort of blank and yet the pupils had the look of drills. Ursy managed better than I did. She rather made up to you, Douglas, didn’t she, during lunch?”

The fire had burned low and the glowing ball of the kerosene lamp was behind Douglas, but Alleyn thought that he had turned redder in the face. His hand went to his moustache and he said in an easy, jocular voice: “I think Ursy and I understood each other pretty well, didn’t we, Ursy? We both knew our Flossie, what?”

Ursy moved uncomfortably. “No, Douglas,” she said. “I won’t quite take that. I mean — oh, well, it doesn’t matter.”

“Come on, Douglas,” said Fabian with something of his former impishness, “be a little gent and take your medicine.”

“I’ve said a dozen times already that I fail to see what we gain by parading matters that are merely personal before Mr. Alleyn. Talk about dirty linen!”

“But, my God, isn’t it better to wash it, however publicly, than to hide it away, still dirty, in our cupboards? I’m persuaded,” said Fabian vigorously, “that only by getting the whole story, the whole complicated mix-up of emotions and circumstances sorted out and related shall we ever get at the truth. And, after all, this particular bit of linen is perfectly clean. Only rather comic, like Mr. Robertson Hare’s underpants.”

“Honestly!” said Ursula and giggled.

“Come on now, Douglas. Egged on by Flossie you did make a formal pass at Ursy that very afternoon. Didn’t you, now?”

“I only want to spare Ursy—”

“No you don’t,” said Fabian. “Come off it, Doug. You want to spare yourself, old cock. This is how it went, I fancy: Flossie, observing my exaltation, told you that it was high time you made a move. Encouraged by Ursy’s carryings-on at lunch — you overdid it a bit, Ursy — and gingered up by Flossie, you proposed and were refused.”

“You didn’t really mind, though, did you, Douglas?” asked Ursula gently. “I mean, it was all rather spur-of-the-momentish, wasn’t it?”

“Well, yes,” said Douglas. “Yes, it was. But I don’t mean…”

“Give it up,” Fabian advised him kindly. “Or were you by any chance in love with Ursy?”

“Naturally. I wouldn’t have asked Ursy to be my wife…” Douglas began and then swore softly to himself.

“And with the wealthy aunt’s blessing why shouldn’t the good little heir speak up like a man? We’ll let it go at that,” said Fabian. “Ursy said her piece, Mr. Alleyn, and Douglas took it like a hero, and the next thing that happened was me on the mat before Flossie.”

The scene had been formidable and had taken place there, in the study. Flossie, Fabian explained, had contrived to give the whole thing an air of the grossest impropriety. She had spoken in a cold hushed voice. “Fabian, I’m afraid what I’m going to say to you is very serious and most unpleasant. I am bitterly disappointed and dreadfully grieved. I think you know what it is that has hurt me so much, don’t you?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t an inkling so far, Aunt Flossie,” Fabian had answered brightly and with profound inward misgivings.

“If you think for a minute, Fabian, I’m sure your conscience will tell you.”

But Fabian refused to play this uncomfortable game and remained obstinately unhelpful. Flossie extended her long upper lip and the corners of her mouth turned down dolorously. “Oh, Fabian, Fabian!” she said in a wounded voice, and after an unfruitful pause she added: “And I put such trust in you. Such trust!” She bit her lip and shielded her eyes wearily. “You refuse to help me, then. I had hoped it would be easier than this. What have you been saying to Ursula? What have you done, Fabian?”

This persistent repetition of his name had jarred intolerably on his nerves, Fabian said, but he had replied without emphasis. “I’m afraid I’ve told Ursula that I’m fond of her.”

“Do you realize how dreadfully wrong that was? What right had you to speak to Ursy?”

There was only one answer to this. “None,” said Fabian.

“None,” Flossie repeated. “None! You see? Oh, Fabian.”

“Ursula returns my love,” said Fabian, taking some pleasure in the old-fashioned phrase.

Two brick-red patches appeared over Flossie’s cheekbones. She abandoned her martyrdom. “Nonsense,” she said sharply.

“I know it’s incredible, but I have her word for it.”

“She’s a child. You’ve taken advantage of her youth.”

“That’s ridiculous, Aunt Florence,” said Fabian.

“She’s sorry for you,” said Flossie cruelly. “It’s pity she feels. You’ve played on her sympathy for your bad health. That’s what it is. Pity,” she added with an air of originality, “may be akin to love, but it’s not love and you’ve behaved most unscrupulously in appealing to it.”

“I made no appeal. I agree that I’ve no business to ask Ursula to marry me and I said as much to her.”

“That was very astute of you,” she said.

“I said there must be no engagement between us unless my doctor could give me a clean bill of health. I assure you, Aunt Florence, I’ve no intention of asking her to marry a crock.”

“If you were bursting with health,” Flossie shouted, “you’d still be entirely unsuited to each other.” She elaborated her theme, pointing out to Fabian the weaknesses in his character — his conceit, his cynicism, his absence of ideals. She emphasized the difference in their circumstances. No doubt, she said, Fabian knew very well that Ursula had an income of her own and, on her uncle’s death, would be extremely well provided for. Fabian said that he agreed with everything Flossie said but that after all it was for Ursula to decide. He added that if the X Adjustment came up to their expectations he would be in a better position financially and could hope for regular employment in specialized and experimental jobs. Flossie stared at him. Almost, Fabian said, you could see her lay back her ears.

“I shall speak to Ursula,” she said.

This announcement filled him with dismay. He lost his head and implored her to wait until he had seen the doctor. “You see,” he told Alleyn, “I knew so well what would happen. Ursy, of course, doesn’t agree with me, but the truth is that for her Flossie was a purely symbolic figure. You’ve heard what Flossie did for Ursy. When Ursy was thirteen years old, and completely desolate, Flossie came along like a plain but comforting goddess and snatched her up into a system of pink clouds. She still sees her as the beneficent super-mother. Flossie had a complete success with Ursula. She caught her young. She loaded her down with a sense of gratitude and gingered her up with inoculations of heroine-worship. Flossie was, as people say, everything to Ursula. She combined the roles of adored form-mistress, queen-mother and lover.”