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"Did she enjoy it as much?"

"It was a he," I said.

"Oh?"

His eyes widened a bit and he sipped his tea.

"His name is Randall Glenn and he's studying singing. He has a beautiful voice and will probably be an opera star' I said. "He's very nice. He's from Canada and he's been here before with his family, so he has been very helpful."

He looked at me with dark, almost angry eyes.

"You want to be careful about your

relationships. One mistake can ruin your life," he advised. It sounded more like a threat. "The streets of London are full of girls your age who were tempted by far more sophisticated boys. Think of it this way," he continued, folding his paper and turning to me. Suddenly, he paused. Mary Margaret, who had been walking in and out of the dining room, lingered in the door a moment until he gazed at her furiously. Then she quickly disappeared into the kitchen.

"Think of it this way," he continued, as if he had been rudely interrupted. "Your hormones are like the engine of your vehicle. They run you and at this age, they are very powerful, so powerful, you can lose control of your vehicle and go off the road. You can crash and destroy yourself. Understand?" he asked.

He spoke to me as if he were speaking to a little girl, explaining the birds and the bees. I knew he was just trying to be helpful, but his tone of voice brought a small smile to my lips. He didn't like it.

"It's not a funny matter," he followed sharply.

"Oh, I know. Thank you for the advice. I appreciate it," I said.

"I hope so," he said. He went back to his paper, snapping it sharply.

"Is Mrs. Endfield all right?" I asked.

"She's just very tired this morning," he said. "Mrs. Chester has orders to send up her tea."

He didn't look at me. I could almost hear him say, "That will be all." I was dismissed.

When I returned to the kitchen, Mrs. Chester had my Great-aunt Leonora's tray all prepared.

"Ya can take this up ta 'en" she told me.

"Me?'

"And why not you, pray tell?"

I looked at Mary Margaret who turned away to get a dish of marmalade for my great-uncle.

"I've never been asked to do it before. That's all," I said.

"There's not much ta do, now is there?" Mrs. Chester chimed. "Jist don't drop it in 'er lap."

I took the tray and carried it up the steps to my great-aunt's room. I knocked and waited.

"Come in," she called.

She was sitting up in her bed. Without her makeup, her hair down, and still in her nightgown, she looked older, the lines in her face more vivid, her complexion more like thin parchment.

"Good morning, Mrs. Endfield," I said.

"Good morning. Please get that first, dear," she said, nodding toward a bed table resting on the floor by the wall.

I put the tray down on the vanity table, set up her bed table, and then brought the tray to it. "Don't you feel well, Mrs. Endfield?" I asked.

"I'm just so tired this morning. The trip and the whole day yesterday was a little much. Don't go," she said when I started toward the door. "Stay a while and tell me about your day and the play,"