She made no comment. "You don't own the house, do you?" she inquired.
"No," he said.
"What's the rent?"
"Eighteen pounds," he said. Reluctant is a word that inadequately describes his attitude.
"The worst of this house is that it has no bathroom," she remarked. "Still, eighteen pounds a year is eighteen pounds a year."
Her tone was faultless, in its innocent, sympathetic common sense. The truth was, it was too faultless; it rendered James furious with a fury that was dangerous, because it had to be suppressed.
Then suddenly she left the table.
"The Kiel butter at a shilling a pound is quite good enough, Georgiana," he heard her exhorting the servant in the scullery.
Ten minutes later, she put ten sovereigns in front of him.
"There's that ten-pound note," she said, politely (but not quite accurately). "I've got enough of my own to get on with."