‘Fanny!’ shouted Mr Kirrin, running up the stairs with a letter in his hand. ‘FANNY! Where are you?’ ‘Here, dear, here, helping Joan with the dusting,’ said Mrs Kirrin, appearing out of a bedroom. ‘Don’t shout like that. I’m not deaf, you know. What’s the matter?’ ‘I’ve a letter here from that old friend of mine, Professor Hayling,’ said Mr Kirrin. ‘You remember him, don’t you?’ ‘Do you mean the man who came here to stay a few years ago, and kept forgetting to come in for meals?’ said Mrs Kirrin, flicking some dust off her husband’s coat. ‘Fanny, don’t flick at me like that,’ said Mr Kirrin, crossly. ‘Anyone would think I was covered in dust. Listen - he’s coming to stay today for a week - instead of next week.’ Mrs Kirrin stared at her husband in horror. ‘But he can’t do that!’ she said. ‘George is coming home today - and her three cousins with her, to stay. You know that!’
