Mrs. Bultiwell inclined her head approvingly. Having once tasted blood, she was unwilling to let her victim go.
“If you will step inside for a moment, Mr. Pratt,” she went on, “there are one or two little things I should like to point out to you. The cupboard in Sybil’s room—”
“Mother,” Sybil protested, “Mr. Pratt has nothing to do with these matters.”
“On the contrary,” Jacob replied mildly, “I am just the person who has to do with them. You are paying a very good rent, Mrs. Bultiwell, and any little thing the Estate can do to make you more comfortable—”
“Come this way, Mr. Pratt,” Mrs. Bultiwell interrupted firmly....
Sybil was still watering the garden when he came out. She waited until he had exchanged cordial farewells with Mrs. Bultiwell, and then summoned him to her. Mrs. Bultiwell was still standing on the threshold, smiling at them, so she was compelled to moderate her anger.
“What have you been doing in there with mother?” she demanded.
“There were one or two little things my clerk of the works has neglected,” he answered. “I promised to see to them, that’s all.”
“You know perfectly well that we arranged for the house as it was.”
“I don’t look upon it in that way,” he said. “There are certain omissions—”