“I congratulate myself. If only a certain custom wasn’t already dead—that of living and letting live—I’ld put myself at your service.”
“Which,” said Spring thoughtfully, “brings us to my idea. If you want Chancery back, I think you may have it.”
“How?”
“Go to America,” said Spring. “You had a good time there before.”
“I should think I did,” said Bagot. “Your people are wonderfully kind.”
“Well, go. Don’t call yourself Worcester, you know. And use your—your sleight of tongue. With ordinary care you ought to marry an heiress within six months.” She paused to take another piece of toast. “It’s been done before,” she added carelessly.
There was a long silence.
At length—
“I’m afraid I’m a bad business man,” said Willoughby quietly.
“Perhaps,” said Spring. “In fact, it’s fairly obvious that, commercially, the Gray Bagots weren’t in it with the Harps. But why be foolish? You needn’t marry the first one that comes along. They’re not all Harps, you know. Some of our psalteries are quite passable.”