“Because I want to ask her to let me have a setting of Minorcas,” replied his aunt, “and no one else keeps them.”
“And we might ask her, you know,” said Maisie, “whether she’d like one of the kittens. I should think that would be a good home, shouldn’t you?”
“P’raps she doesn’t like cats,” said Dennis carelessly. “We’ve got three weeks, so it really doesn’t matter much yet.”
The Broadbents’ square white house now came in sight. It had a trim garden, a tennis ground, and a summer-house, and was completely screened from the farm-buildings by a gloomy row of fir-trees. The children did not as a rule care to pay visits to Mrs Broadbent, for there were no animals or interesting things about; but to-day Maisie asked leave to go in, for she had the kittens on her mind, and felt she must not lose a chance.
Mrs Broadbent was a thin little widow, who wore smart caps, and had a general air of fashion about her person. She was sharp and clever, well up to the business of managing her large farm, and familiar with every detail of it. Unfortunately she considered this a thing to be ashamed of, and, much to Miss Chester’s annoyance, always pretended ignorance which did not exist. What she was proud of, and thrust foremost in her conversation, were the accomplishments of two highly-educated daughters, who painted on china, and played the violin, and on this subject she received no encouragement from Aunt Katharine.
“I shouldn’t have thought of disturbing you so early, Mrs Broadbent,” she said briskly, when they were seated in the smart little drawing-room, “but I’ve come on business. I want to know if you’ve a setting of Minorca fowls to dispose of. I’ve a fancy to rear some.”
Mrs Broadbent simpered a little and put her head on one side.
“I’ve no doubt we can oblige you, Miss Chester,” she said. “I’ll speak to my poultry-man about it, and let you know.”
“How many Minorcas have you?” asked Miss Chester.
“Oh, I really couldn’t tell you, Miss Chester,” replied Mrs Broadbent with a little laugh. “I never thought of inquiring.”