Edith Fenimore as the ugly old
sisters were from Cinderella. Although she belonged to a good old South
of England family, she had joined, for reasons known only to herself,
the old Free Kirk of Scotland, found a congenial Calvinistic centre in
Galloway, and after insulting her English relations and friends in the
most unconscionable way, cut herself adrift from them for ever. "Mad as
a hatter," Sir Anthony used to say, and, never having met the lady, I
agreed with him. She loathed her sister, she detested Anthony, and she
appeared to be coldly indifferent to the fact of the existence of her
nephew Oswald. But for Althea, and for Althea alone, she entertained a
curious, indulgent affection, and every now and then Althea went to
spend a week or so in Galloway, where she contrived to obtain
considerable amusement. Aunt Maria did both herself and her visitors
very well, said Althea, who had an appreciative eye for the material
blessings of life. Althea walked over the moors and fished and took
Aunt Maria's cars out for exercise and, except whistle on the Sabbath,
seemed to do exactly what she liked.

Now, in January 1914, Althea announced to her parents that Aunt Maria
had summoned her for a week to Galloway. Sir Anthony stuffed her
handbag with five-pound notes, and at an early hour of the morning sent
her up in the car to London in charge of the chauffeur. The chauffeur
returned saying that he had bought Miss Althea's ticket at Euston and
seen her start off comfortably on her journey. A letter or two had been
received by the Fenimores from Galloway, and letters they had written
to Galloway had been acknowledged by Althea. She returned to
Wellingsford in due course, with bonny cheeks and wind-swept eyes, and
told us all funny little stories about Aunt Maria. No one thought
anything more about it until one fine afternoon in May, 1915, when
Maria Beccles walked unexpectedly into the drawing-room of Wellings
Park, while Sir Anthony and Lady Fenimore were at tea.

"My dear Edith," she said to her astounded hostess, who had not seen
her for fifteen years. "In this orgy of hatred and strife that is going
on in the world, it seems ridiculous to go on hating and fighting one's
own family. We must combine against the Germans and hate them. Let us
be friends."

"Mad as Crazy Jane," said Sir Anthony, telling me the story. But I, who
had never heard Aunt Maria's side of the dispute, thought it very
high-spirited of the old lady to