Your little Museum, I hear, has been totally destroyed with all its contents by fire. I have to remind you therefore that the mittens of her late Majesty Queen Charlotte were there on loan, as lent by me. No equivalent in money can really make up for the loss of so irreplaceable a relic, but I should be glad to know, as soon as possible, what compensation you propose to offer me.
The figure that has been suggested to me is £50, and an early cheque would oblige.
Faithfully yours,
Cornelia Ambermere.
A dead silence succeeded, broken by Mrs. Boucher as soon as her indignation allowed her to speak.
“I would sooner,” she said, “go to law about it, and appeal if it went against us, and carry it up to the House of Lords, than pay £50 for those rubbishy things. Why the whole contents of the Museum weren’t worth more than—well, leave it at that.”
The figure at which the contents of the Museum had been insured floated into everybody’s mind, and it was more dignified to “leave it at that,” and not let the imagination play over the probable end of Mrs. Boucher’s sentence.
The meeting entirely concurred, but nobody, not even Robert, knew what to do next.
“I propose offering her £10,” said Georgie at last, “and I call that handsome.”
“Five,” said Daisy, like an auction reversed.
Robert rubbed the top of his head, as was his custom in perplexity.