“Well, Georgie, I suppose I must be good-natured,” she said. “I’ll draft a little letter for your committee to Lady Ambermere. How you all bully me and work me to death! Why, only yesterday I said to Pepino that those months we spent in London seemed a holiday compared to what I have to do here. Dear old Riseholme! I’m sure I’m very glad to help it out of its little holes.”
Georgie gave a gasp of admiration. It was but a month or two ago that all Riseholme rejoiced when Abfou called her a snob, and now here they all were again (with the exception of Daisy) going to her for help and guidance in all those employments and excitements in which Riseholme revelled. Golf-competitions and bridge tournament, and duets, and real séances, and deliverance from Lady Ambermere, and above all, the excitement supplied by her personality.
“You’re too wonderful,” he said, “indeed, I don’t know what we should do without you.”
“Well, I’ll scribble a little letter for you,” she said, “bringing in the price of George the Fourth’s gaiters in good condition. What shall we—I mean what shall you offer? I think you must be generous, Georgie, and not calculate the exact difference between the value of a pair of gaiters in good condition belonging to a king, and that of a pair of moth-eaten mittens belonging to a queen consort. Offer her the same; in fact, I think I should enclose a treasury note for ten shillings and six stamps. That will be more than generous, it will be munificent.”
Lucia sat down at her writing-table, and after a few minutes’ thought, scribbled a couple of sides of notepaper in that neat handwriting that bore no resemblance to Vittoria’s. She read them through, and approved.
“I think that will settle it,” she said. “If there is any further bother with the Vecchia, let me know. There’s one more thing, Georgie, and then let us have a little music. How do you think the fire broke out?”
Georgie felt her penetrating eye was on him. She had not asked that question quite idly. He tried to answer it quite idly.
“It’s most mysterious,” he said. “The oil stoves are always put out quite early in the evening, and lit again next morning. The boy says he put them out as usual.”
Lucia’s eye was still on him.