Manchurian Books

Her mother must once have been a pretty woman; she had regular features
and Marion's hair without its lustre, but she was thin and careworn.
The aunt, Miss Ramboat, was a large, abnormally shy person very like her
brother, and I don't recall anything she said on this occasion.
To begin with there was a good deal of tension, Marion was frightfully
nervous and every one was under the necessity of behaving in a
mysteriously unreal fashion until I plunged, became talkative and made
a certain ease and interest. I told them of the schools, of my lodgings,
of Wimblehurst and my apprenticeship days. "There's a lot of this
Science about nowadays," Mr. Ramboat reflected; "but I sometimes wonder
a bit what good it is?"
I was young enough to be led into what he called "a bit of a
discussion," which Marion truncated before our voices became unduly
raised. "I dare say," she said, "there's much to be said on both sides."
I remember Marion's mother asked me what church I attended, and that
I replied evasively. After tea there was music and we sang hymns.


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