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"Yer late, Miss Nancibel; the missus was agettin' anxious an' alookin' outa the winder," said the old woman in flounced cap and apron metallic with starch who let her in.

"I'm not so awfully late, am I, Mary Ann?"

Pulling off her gloves, Nan brushed through portieres of salmoncolored brocade into the parlor.

"O, my dear Nancibel, how glad I am to see you," said Aunt M. throwing stubby arms round her niece's neck. Nan's lips touched the wrinkled lifeless skin.

"I'm sorry to be late, Auntie."

"Well, one can't expect a budding virtuoso.... I suppose one should say virtuosa ... to be very punctual. And punctuality is fallen into disrepute among young people nowadays.... Now run up and take your things off like a good girl and come back quickly and talk to me so that we can have a good chat before the Turnstables come."

"Are they coming Auntie?"

"Yes, Cousin Jane Turnstable and her boy and girl are coming to dinner at half after one. It's quite thrilling to have so many young people in the house."