I had no sooner settled down quietly at home and got to work again on my history than I was assailed by Godfrey. I wish very much that he was Conroy’s nephew and not mine. Conroy goes driving in a motor in the middle of the night, so he must like disturbances. I hate them.
“I’m sorry, Excellency, but I am afraid I shall have to interrupt you.”
Godfrey, besides being objectionable in other ways, is a liar. He is not sorry, he is very glad, when he gets the chance of interrupting me. I should resent the disturbance less if he acknowledged frankly that he enjoyed annoying me.
“It can’t be time,” I said, “for another garden-party yet; but, if it is, I’d rather you made out the invitation list yourself. I’m busy. Besides making out lists is one of the things you’re good at. I should be sure to leave out somebody.”
“I don’t want to talk about garden-parties,” said Godfrey. “This is something much more serious.”
“There’s no use coming to me about it,” I said. “I told you last time that your tailor could bring you into the County Court if he liked. I shan’t pay him again.”
The inference was a natural one. Godfrey had said that he wanted to talk about something more important than a garden-party. But the inference was wrong. Godfrey looked offended.
“I sent Nicholson and Blackett a cheque last week,” he said.
I waited patiently. If Godfrey’s business had nothing to do with garden-parties or tailors’ bills, I could only suppose that he meant to make some fresh complaint about Crossan.