“Quite a genius, Vane—yes, I repeat it, quite a genius.”
“Oh, no, sir; it will be easy enough.”
“After once doing, Vane,” said the rector, “but the first invention—the contriving—is, I beg to say, hard. However, I am intensely gratified to see that you are putting your little—little—little—what shall I call them?”
“Dodges, sir,” suggested Macey, deferentially.
“No, Mr Macey, that is too commonplace—too low a term for the purpose, and we will, if you please, say schemes.”
“Yes, sir,” said Macey, seriously—“schemes.”
“Schemes to so useful a purpose,” continued the rector; “and I shall ask you to superintend the fitting up of my conservatory upon similar principles.”
“Really, sir, I—” began Vane; but the rector smiled and raised a protesting hand.
“Don’t refuse me, Vane,” he said. “Of course I shall beg that you do not attempt any of the manual labour—merely superintend; but I shall exact one thing, if you consent to do it for me. That is, if the one at the manor succeeds.”
“Of course I will do it, if you wish, sir,” said Vane.