“Oh, I know,” he said. “I know. I did three rooms for them.”
“At three hundred guineas,” said Blanche. “My dear, you did. I had tea in your hall this afternoon.”
“What a funny thing,” said Titus. “Did you say who you were?”
“No,” said Blanche faintly. “I didn’t. Like you, I value my life. Apparently you got busy while Blatchbourne himself was away, and his wife put through the deal. When he came back, it was all over. Of course he’s mad as a hornet, and I don’t blame him. Titus, that hall would make a saint see red.”
“Nonsense, my dear,” said Cheviot. “I remember it perfectly. That’s one of my favourite designs. The ‘Boot and Saddle’ I call it. Did you notice the pigskin ceiling?”
“I did,” said Blanche wildly. “And the steel mantelpiece. Mr. Blatchbourne forgot and leaned on it just before I left. Of course he was terribly burned, and he says you did it on purpose, and he’s going to have your blood. I tell you——”
“He can’t,” said Titus calmly. “If he likes to take my advice, that’s his look-out. Probably his burning was a judgment for abusing me. Besides, when all’s said and done, whether the room looks well is purely——”
“I’m not going to argue,” cried Blanche. “But we must close down at once. That’s certain. If, as you say, you’ve done other rooms like that——”
“I should think about fifty,” said Titus. “I tell you——”
Blanche felt rather faint.