“I know nothing of them, either.”
She shrugged her shoulders. In her hand was a fan, for the night was hot. She tapped his arm with the fan, and then opened it deftly, glancing at him over the edge of it.
“But, positively, I must teach you. It will be great fun. We’ll play ‘swaps.’ I could write an article on ‘tufting’ and ‘slots’ and ‘laying on the pack.’ But I don’t know growing wheat from barley.” (She did.) “I’ll go to school with you, if you’ll go to school with me?”
“Done,” said Lionel. “My hand on it.”
They were shaking hands, as Sir Geoffrey came in. Lady Pomfret followed with a murmured apology:
“My dear, forgive me! The Squire and I are seldom late for dinner.”
The Squire added a few words.
“You see we don’t treat you too ceremoniously.”
Fishpingle’s sonorous tones were heard.
“Dinner is served, Sir Geoffrey.”