And during the whole of my agony there were noddings of the snow-white heads, smile-beams on the wrinkled faces, bursts of child-like laughter, the exchange of knowing glances.

And the old man turned to me saying:

‘Speak up, she’s rather deaf.’

Mamma retaliated:

‘Louder, please, he’s hard of hearing.’

I obeyed. They smiled their thanks, and, smiling, fathomed my eyes, seeking the likeness of their boy. Looking into theirs I beheld dimly, as through a mist, the face of my friend, smiling.

Suddenly raising himself in his chair, the old man exclaimed: ‘Mamma, are you dreaming? perhaps he hasn’t lunched yet.’

‘Not lunched, poor dear!’

As her thoughts were probably dwelling on Maurice, I was hastening to assure her that the dear boy never lunched later than noon.

‘Maurice’s friend, I mean,’ said the old man.

‘Oh, sir, a thousand pardons!’

My hunger was rampant, so I did not prevaricate.

‘Quick, little blues! Lay the Sunday cloth on the middle table, and bring the best flower-patterned plates. Quick! don’t giggle like silly geese; best foot foremost.’

The lunch was ready in a twinkling.

‘This is just a small, small repast,’ said grandma as she led me to the table. ‘Excuse our not joining you, but we lunch before noon.’

When visitors arrived, the old folks had always ‘lunched before noon’.

The menu comprised two strips of white of egg, some dates, and a barquette, a kind of pastry, quite enough to sustain grandma and her canaries for a week. All eyes were upon me during the meal. The little blues whispered, the canaries twittered: ‘Oh, look at that great, greedy glutton; he’s eating up all the barquette.’

The great, greedy glutton certainly swept the board, though almost unconsciously, so absorbed was he in contemplating the bright and peaceful room, fragrant with memories of the past.

My eyes were riveted on two small beds, almost like cradles. I pictured them at day-break, still shrouded in their fringed curtains. The clock strikes three, the hour when the old folks awaken.

‘Are you asleep, Mamma?’

‘No, dear.’

‘Isn’t Maurice a fine fellow?’

‘Yes, yes, a fine, fine fellow.’