Hilda, half cajoling, half fretful, protested:
"Now, Edwin, don't be disagreeable."
He followed her on high, martyrised. The front wall of the house rose nearly to the top of the attic windows, screening and darkening them.
"Cheerful view!" Edwin growled.
He heard Ingpen saying that the place could be had on a repairing lease for sixty-five pounds a year, and that perhaps £1,200 would buy it. Dirt cheap.
"Ah!" Edwin murmured. "I know those repairing leases. £1,000 wouldn't make this barn fit to live in."
He knew that Ingpen and Hilda exchanged glances.
"It's larger than Tavy Mansion," said Hilda.
Tavy Mansion! There was the secret! Tavy Mansion was at the bottom of her scheme. Alicia Hesketh had a fine house, and Hilda must have a finer. She, Hilda, of all people, was a snob. He had long suspected it.
He rejoined sharply: "Of course it isn't larger than Tavy Mansion! It isn't as large."