“How do I perform my engagement?”
“The one to Mr. Prodmore?”
He looked surprised at her speaking as if he had half-a-dozen. “Yes—that’s the worst.”
“Certainly—the worst!” And she gave a happy laugh that made him stare.
He broke into quite a different one. “You speak as if its being the worst made it the best!”
“It does—for me. You don’t,” said Mrs. Gracedew, “perform any engagement.”
He required a moment to take it in; then something extraordinary leaped into his face. “He lets me off?”
Ah, she could ring out now! “He lets you off.”
It lifted him high, but only to drop him with an audible thud. “Oh, I see—I lose my house!”
“Dear, no—that doesn’t follow!” She spoke as if the absurdity he indicated were the last conceivable, but there was a certain want of sharpness of edge in her expression of the alternative. “You arrange with me to keep it.”