“Not exactly. It is about that I wish to speak to you.”
“To me?”
“Yes. I wanted to ask—”
“You intend to ask me for money?”
“I want to suggest—”
“How much?”
“Four—five hundred pounds.”
“Great heaven!” Mr. Marrapit wildly fingered the air. Margaret, at the end of the lawn, crossed his vision. He called huskily: “Margaret!”
She tripped to him. “Father! What is it?”
“Barley water!” Mr. Marrapit throated. “Barley water!”