He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "If it hadn't been for us four relatives being here Cousin Hiram would have shut up the house when they went to Brighton."
For a moment there was dead silence. Then Lionel went on. "That means the old boy really is in a tight place, otherwise he'd never have thought of it—and, by Jove, Kate, I'd like to do something to help him if it's only picking cabbages or—blacking boots—there's something I can do." Lionel's face shone with a joyous recollection. "Once I blacked the boots of six people for two weeks."
"You did!" Kate laughed incredulously.
Lionel nodded. "A caravan party in Devonshire, two married women, one flapper just out of school, two husbands, another chap and me. The flapper was the hardest——"
"The hardest?"
"I mean her boots. I couldn't get my hand into them—had to hold 'em by the heel."
"That settles it!" decided the countess. "It's perfectly simple. We'll go on just as we are. I'm cook, you're kitchen boy and boots, and cousin Harriet can be upstairs girl." Kate laughed nervously, then, suddenly her whole manner changed. "Lionel," she said, "I want to tell you something. Ever since luncheon I have been haunted by the picture of that darling old man waiting on the table. There was something in his face that went right through me—I can't tell you what it was, but every time I looked at him I wanted to run and put my arms round his neck and have a good cry. I never felt like such a good for nothing rotter in my life. And when I looked up and found he'd gone——" She stopped speaking and got up quickly. "There! I must go to Mrs. Merle."
Lionel struck his repeater. "By Jove! It's nine o'clock! I must go to the lake."