"Can't you get the ninepenny ones now?"
"I suppose," I said, reverting to the subject which most weighed on me, "she wouldn't like to give the men's voices for the choir?"
"No, I think a clock," said Celia. "A clock can cost anything you like—or don't like."
"Right-o. And perhaps we'd better settle now. When it comes, how many times shall we write and thank her for it?"
Celia considered. "Four times, I think," she said.
Well, as Celia says, it's too late to draw back now. But I shall be glad when it's all over. As I began by saying, there's too much "arranging" and "settling" and "fixing" about the thing for me. In the necessary negotiations and preparations I fear I have not shone. And so I shall be truly glad when we have settled down in our flat ... and Celia can restore my confidence in myself once more by talking loudly to her domestic staff about "The Master."