Summer Term at the Chalet School

“Oh, excuse me, please, but—but I think you must be my Aunt Joey Bettany!”At this startling statement from a total stranger, Joey Maynard stopped dead in her headlong rush down Oxford Street and swung round to face the speaker. She saw a slender child of twelve or thirteen whose big blue eyes were looking straight up into her own black ones with an eager trust that, as she said later, made her positive that this was no “try on”.“Who on earth?” she began slowly, still surveying the earnest little face with a puzzled look. “Well, to my knowledge I’ve never seen you before. And yet I feel I ought to know you. Your face rings a very loud bell in my memory. Who are you, anyhow? And if you’re my niece—blood or brevet—how come I’ve not seen you before? For I’m fairly sure I haven’t, you know.”