Be sure she declared it from the housetops.
“A long-felt want,” she boomed. “The moment I entered the shop I felt at home. At first I couldn’t think why. Suddenly it occurred to me—style. The Cheviots can visualize style. My dear, I could have wept with relief. When I think of how I implored Bucher’s to do the drawing-room in dove grey . . . I almost went down on my knees, but they wouldn’t listen. Blanche Cheviot comes to survey it, and what’s the first thing she says? ‘Dove grey.’ I’ve just sent her opinion to Bucher’s and told them to carry it out.”
And so on.
It was, of course, but natural that Titus should lose his nerve.
When, upon being shown the first day’s entries, he perceived ‘requests to survey’ one library and two halls, he appeared for some moments to have lost the power of speech. Then he gave tongue. . . .
Mercifully the storm broke behind closed doors.
“I refuse,” he raged. “It’s criminally insane, and I won’t touch it. ‘Decorate a hall.’ I couldn’t decorate a bear-pit. An’ if I did, the bears wouldn’t work. They’d get egg-bound or something.”
“Now, don’t be silly,” purred Blanche. “It’s the easiest——”
“I’m not being silly,” raved Titus. “I’m simply announcing my limitations. I tell you, it’s out of the question. I cannot decorate.”
“Nobody’s asking you to decorate,” said Mrs. Cheviot. “All you’ve got to do is to look at a room.”