e that none dared confess the tea-house
debauch. Her invitation was accepted, and, eighteen strong, we filed
into her parlour. Luckily it's as big as a good-sized country
schoolroom, and there's a mid-Victorian "suite" consisting of two
sofas, a settee, a couple of easy chairs and eight uneasy ones. Aunt
Mary is of those worthy women who upholster themselves and dress their
furniture, so everything in her home is rather fussy, lots of
antimacassars and tidies and scarfs and that sort of thing. Besides, she
thinks flowers are for gardens, not for houses, with the exception of
some wax ones made by herself when a girl and preserved under glass.
Still, there's such a pet of an old Chinese wall paper, and everything
is so exquisitely neat that the effect isn't so bad as you might
suppose.

Aunt Mary has a _flair_ for liking the wrong people, and wronging the
right ones, so of course she took quite a fancy to Ed Caspian, and was
somewhat stiff with Peter, whom Mrs. Shuster introduced as "my
secretary, Mr. Storm." However, she was as nice as she could be to
Larry, and asked if I had mentioned her visit to Kidd's Pines. When she
heard that I had not, she was surprised and grieved at my carelessness.

"My niece was always inclined to be forgetful," said she. "I can't think
where she inherited it from. The first thing I did on my return from New
York was to look in the attic for my old photograph scrapbooks. I have a
place for everything, and everything in its place, in this house; but I
travel a great deal, and occasionally my servants, with the best
intentions, upset my arrangements. I found several of the little volumes
exactly where I expected to lay my hand on them, but I am very sorry to
say the one I wanted was missing. If I had been sure that I should have
the pleasure of seeing you and your daughter, Mr Moore, I would have
looked even more thoroughly, for I'm _sure_ the photographs exist. It
was fifteen years ago this summer that I attended the garden party at
Kidd's Pines, with my cousin, Mr. Payton. I met you and Mrs. Moore for a
moment, I remember quite well. You both looked almost too young to be
married, I thought, but your little girl was about four years old. She
was not at the party officially" (Aunt Mary smiled at her own coy wit),
"but I met her with a boy much older, who was playing with her. I took a
snapshot of them both together, standing by a swing which was in a
retired part of the grounds."

By this