Auntie Louie looked at her youngest nephew.  She smiled her downward, sagging smile, wrung from a virginity sadder than Grannie’s grief.  She spoke to Baby John.

“You really are rather a nice boy,” Auntie Louie said.

But Edie, the youngest Auntie, was kneeling on the grass before him, bringing her face close to his.  Baby John’s new and flawless face was cruel to Auntie Edie’s.  So was his look of dignity and wisdom.

“Oh, she says you’re only rather nice,” said Auntie Edie.  “And you’re the beautifullest, sweetest, darlingest that ever was.  Wasn’t she a nasty Auntie Louie?  Ten little pink toes.  And there he goes.  Five little tootsies to each of his footsies.”

She hid herself behind the Times disturbing Jane.

“Where’s John-John?” she cried.  “Where’s he gone to?  Can anybody tell me where to find John-John?  Where’s John-John?  Peep-bo—­there he is!  John-John, look at Auntie Edie.  Oh, he won’t pay any attention to poor me.”

Baby John was playing earnestly with Grannie’s watch-chain.

“You might leave the child alone,” said Grannie.  “Can’t you see he doesn’t want you?”

Auntie Edie made a little pouting face, like a scolded, pathetic child.  Nobody ever did want Auntie Edie.

And all the time Auntie Emmy was talking to Frances very loud and fast.

“Frances, I do think your garden’s too beautiful for words.  How clever of you to think of clearing away the old flower-beds.  I hate flower-beds on a lawn.  Yet I don’t suppose I should have had the strength of mind to get rid of them if it bad been me.”

As she talked Auntie Emmy opened her eyes very wide; her eyebrows jerked, the left one leaping up above the right; she thrust out her chin at you and her long, inquiring nose.  Her thin face was the play of agitated nerve-strings that pulled it thus into perpetual, restless movements; and she made vague gestures with her large, bony hands.  Her tongue went tick-tack, like a clock.  Anthony said you-could hear Emmy’s tongue striking the roof of her-mouth all thee time.

“And putting those delphiniums all together like that—­Massing the blues.  Anthony?  I do think Anthony has perfect taste.  I adore delphiniums.”

Auntie Emmy was behaving as if neither Michael nor Baby John was there.

“Don’t you think John-John’s too beautiful for words?” said Frances.  “Don’t you like him a little bit too?”

Auntie Emmy winced as if Frances had flicked something in her face.

“Of course I like him too.  Why shouldn’t I?”

“I don’t think you do, Auntie Emmy,” Michael said.

Auntie Emmy considered him as for the first time.

“What do you know about it?” she said.

“I can tell by the funny things your face does.”

“I thought,” said Frances, “you wanted to play by yourself.”

“So I do,” said Michael.