"How do you know," said Gay, "that they won't pick their teeth in public? I couldn't stand that."
"They won't be that kind," said Mary grimly. "And they will be so busy paying their bills that they won't have time."
"Seriously," said Arthur, "are you going to turn The Camp into an inn?"
"No," said Mary, "not into an inn. It has always been The Camp. We shall turn it into The Inn."
[II]
Mr. Gilpin had departed in what had perhaps been the late Mr. Darling's last extravagant purchase, a motor-boat which at rest was a streak of polished mahogany, and at full speed, a streak of foam. The reluctant lawyer carried with him instructions to collect as much cash as possible and place it to the credit of the equally reluctant Arthur Darling.
"Arthur," Mary had agreed, "is perhaps the only one of us who could be made to understand that a bank account in his name is not necessarily at his own personal disposal. Arthur is altruistically and Don Quixotically honest."
It was necessary to warm the playroom with a tremendous fire, as October had changed suddenly from autumn to winter. There was a gusty grayness in the heavens that promised flurries of snow.