"Bob Falkland isn't good at writing. He runs the farm pretty well on his own, but if any difficulties arise I will tell him to come to you, and if you can't cope with them, you can write to me."
"What is your nearest town?"
"Penrith. You have no difficulties in the way of supplies. For Penrith contains all that we need. Any more questions?"
"No, thank you. Not at present."
He returned to his paper, and Anstice to her magazines. They had the carriage to themselves until they came to Crewe. Then he took her to the restaurant car to have tea. They were talking pleasantly together about the country in general, when suddenly a stout, handsome-looking woman came across from her seat opposite them, and accosted Justin.
"Well, you gad-about," she said playfully. "Where do you come from? Going home for twenty-four hours, I suppose, as usual."
"Let me introduce you to my wife," said Justin gravely. Then turning to Anstice, he said: "This is our nearest neighbour, Mrs. Wykeham."
Anstice could see that Justin's announcement was a distinct shock to the lady, though she concealed it as best she could.
"Yes, I live about eight miles away, but that is nothing in these days. Well, Justin, I must congratulate you. All your troubles will be over now. Are the children expecting you? They were not two days ago. I met them in the lanes having a riotous time with Hal Cross, who was driving them."
"No," said Justin; "we're taking them by surprise."