She tactfully broke off at Daisy’s and Robert’s entrance.
“Good morning,” she said. “And good morning, Mr. Robert. This is a disaster, indeed. All Mr. Georgie’s sketches, and the walking-sticks, and the mittens and the spit. Nothing left at all.”
Robert seemed amazingly cheerful.
“I don’t see it as such a disaster,” he said. “Lucky I had those insurances executed. We get two thousand pounds from the Company, of which five hundred goes to Colonel Boucher for his barn—I mean the Museum.”
“Well, that’s something,” said Mrs. Boucher. “And the rest? I never could understand about insurances. They’ve always been a sealed book to me.”
“Well, the rest belongs to those who put the money up to equip the Museum,” he said. “In proportion, of course, to the sums they advanced. Altogether four hundred and fifty pounds was put up, you and Daisy and Georgie each put in fifty. The rest; well, I advanced the rest.”
There were some rapid and silent calculations made. It seemed rather hard that Robert should get such a lot. Business always seemed to favour the rich. But Robert didn’t seem the least ashamed of that. He treated it as a perfect matter of course.
“The—the treasures in the Museum almost all belonged to the Committee,” he went on. “They were given to the Museum, which was the property of the Committee. Quite simple. If it had been a loan collection now—well, we shouldn’t be finding quite such a bright lining to our cloud. I’ll manage the insurance business for you, and pay you pleasant little cheques all round. The Company, no doubt, will ask a few questions as to the origin of the fire.”
“Ah, there’s a mystery for you,” said Mrs. Boucher. “The oil stoves were always put out in the evening, after burning all day, and how a fire broke out in the middle of the night beats me.”
Daisy’s mouth twitched. Then she pulled herself together.