“If you don’t, my dear, there is likely to be no season—for us. You must look realities in the face. If I can sell Badholme——”
“But you said you had sold it!”
“Tut—tut! It is as good as sold. He can’t refuse it after having stayed there with us. Besides, the fellow is as rich as Crœsus!”
It was accordingly settled. Featherstone sent volleys over the telephone.
“Get the place thoroughly redecorated, Ayscough. It has to be finished in three weeks. Armies of workers.... And the blue room on the first floor, put in a new ceiling, something elaborate. What’s that? Can’t do it in three 68 weeks? But it has to be done. I leave it to you, my dear Ayscough.... Oh, the garden wants seeing to. I must have the garden put straight.... And the paths graveled.... A few sheep in the park might lend a nice effect.... Don’t talk about impossibilities. This is a very urgent matter. Do you think you could hire half a dozen horses?”
When Claude heard the extraordinary news that the family was leaving for Little Badholme in three weeks’ time he wondered what was in the wind. When he subsequently learned that one James Conlan was to visit them as guest, his suspicions overleaped his delight. Angela, the imperturbable, merely went on reading Bernard Shaw.