Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net As Henry came blithely into the house with a heavy suit-case in one hand and a cumbersome kit-bag in the other, his Aunt Mirabelle marched out like a grenadier from the living-room, and posted herself in the hallway to watch him approach. There was this much to say for Aunt Mirabelle: she was at least consistent, and for twenty years she had worn the same expression whenever she looked at him. During that period the rest of the world and Henry had altered, developed, advanced--but not Aunt Mirabelle. She had changed neither the style of her clothes nor the nature of her convictions; she had disappro…
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