Both were members and they had dined there together.
"I am run down," said Morton Sims, during the meal. "I have been too much in London lately. I've got a lot of important research work to do. I'm going to take a house in the country for a few months, only I don't know where."
The mind of the man occupied with big things was impatient of detail; the mind of the man occupied with small ones responded instantly.
"I know of the very place, Sims. In my own village. How fortunate! The 'Haven.' Old Admiral Custance used to have it, but he's dead recently. There are six months of the lease still to run. Mrs. Custance has gone to live at Lugano. She wants to let the place furnished until the lease is up."
"It sounds as if it might do."
"But, my dear fellow, it's the very place you want! Exactly the thing! I can manage it for you in no time. Pashwhip and Moger—the house agents in our nearest town—have the letting. Do let me be of use!"
"It's very kind of you, O'Donnell."
"Delighted. It will be so jolly to have you in the village. I'm not there as much as I could wish, of course. My other work keeps me so much in London. But Medley, my colleague, is an excellent fellow. He'll look after you in every way."
"Who lives round about?"
"Well, as far as Society is concerned, we are a little distance from anywhere. Lord Fakenham's is the nearest house——"