Peggy sat down on a garden bench and began to laugh.
“I never heard such a bad plan,” she said.
“Plans, plans?” broke in Hugh. “What’s the use of plans? We want to get Edith down into the country.”
“But that’s just where plans come in,” said Peggy. “Why, if you do that, she will say that I have been suggesting it to you (which is perfectly true), and she will trouble me to mind my own business, and refuse to leave London at all.”
“What are we to do then?” asked Hugh.
“That’s just what we’ve got to make a plan about. It’s obvious that since she won’t leave London while she thinks you want to stop, you must seem not to want to stop.”
“Yes, I see—I see!” said Hugh. “Shall I tell her now?”
“Certainly not. She would instantly connect me with it. Do it about next Wednesday, and by degrees. Oh, good gracious! a woman could do it so easily, and you will probably make a hash of so simple a thing.”
“I have lots of tact,” said Hugh confidently.
“Yes, but it’s visible tact, which is as bad as none. The only tact worth having is the tact that you can’t see—the invisible tact.”