“Mais, cher dieu, de la tendre et divine épouvante,
Amour, que feraient-ils si vous ne veniez pas?”
CHAPTER VII
THE TROUBLE COMING.—THE GREEN GATES OF VISION: II. MORNING
“Afraid I’ve got to worry you a bit!” Bluecaster began apologetically in his slow, shy voice. He was big and broad-shouldered, with a manner toiling anxiously to meet your approval, and never quite sure of getting there. Yet there was the charm of breeding in his diffident speech and pleasant smile, and under all his patient horror of responsibility was a real desire to do “the decent thing.” He looked at his agent much as a conscientious hound looks at a kind and skilful but strict whip. If you were fond of dogs, you reached out your hand and patted him when nobody was looking, and he licked your hand in return.
“You’ll wonder, I expect, why I never dropped you a line to say I was coming, but, as a matter of fact, I hadn’t meant turning up again just yet. Had to leave the mixed doubles at Sledhammer. Ripping tennis we were having, too—and yet they say we landowners never do anything for our property! But the fact is, I’ve been put out about something, and I wanted to talk it over. How have things been going? Any news?”
Lanty thought of the careful letters he had written at such short intervals, detailed, explicit letters, suggesting, accounting, and wondered how much, if any, of the information had been grasped by his employer. He did not refer to them, however, but gave him the outstanding points of several situations as simply and rapidly as possible. Bluecaster was obviously glad when it was over.
The Ninekyrkes problem, though, had a chapter to itself.
“That’s curious!” he said thoughtfully. “It was about the land round there that I wanted to see you. Nothing to do with the matrimonial mix-up, of course! Very awkward for everybody, the girl cutting up rough like that. I wonder they didn’t call you in, Lancaster! They seem to think you can settle most things.”
“Well, they did,” the agent confessed, “but I wasn’t a success. I think I made matters worse, if anything! There’s no other trouble, though, that I know of, on the marsh. What have you heard, my lord?”
Bluecaster, however, still beat about his particular bush, inquiring after Helwise, the factotum, even the Church Army Van. He always remembered Helwise with little, quietly administered courtesies, though she pestered him to martyrdom when he came within reach.