“I precious near did,” said Ivan. “When I got your card I nearly went off the deep end.”
“But you should have, Ivan.” The man took his pipe from his mouth and stared at the maid. “You should have written back, telling me to beat it for The Hothouse and saying that, come snow, September the woolly fifth would see you here.”
“Oh, you ungrateful girl! What if I had?”
“Then,” said Belinda, with a dazzling smile, “then I should have come on the fourth.”
“What?” screamed Ivan, leaping up.
“Hush,” said Belinda, laying finger on lip. “You’ll—you’ll wake her.”
“D’you mean,” whispered Ivan hoarsely, “d’you mean you were waiting for me?”
“Listen,” said Belinda. “Do you remember what Forsyth said that day about the Will? He made us read between the lines, didn’t he? He showed us the implied condition upon which we were left this villa—that we should enjoy it together. Well, that implied condition stuck in my mind. . . . Presently I turned it round. If you remember, he said we ought to reason upon the Will’s behalf. And I asked myself whether, if Colonel Drawbridge had known that we were going to enjoy his home apart, he would have left it us. . . . And I came to the conclusion that he wouldn’t. . . . Well, that being so, there was only one thing to be done. Noblesse oblige, you know. You can’t take advantage of the dead.”
“Belinda!”
“Wait. That’s only my point of view. There’s no reason on earth why you should adopt it. My conclusion may be all wrong. But if ever I come again, I’ll get hold of Lady Cherubic and I hope you’ll come too. . . . And when—when I marry, Ivan, I shall renounce.”