“Nature cast the spell, Sir Geoffrey.”
The Squire began to fume again, frowning and pulling at his ample chin.
“Nature——! Aided and abetted by you. Rank sentimentalist you are, and always were. I have the obvious” (the word had rankled) “common sense to scrap sentiment. Do you remember those cows, that half-bred herd I inherited with other disabilities? My lady wanted me to keep them.”
“Bless her!”
“And you sided with her.”
“Did I?”
“Of course you did.”
Fishpingle smiled faintly. He crossed to one of the tallboys standing in an alcove and pulled open a drawer. The Squire growled.
“What are you up to now?”
“I want to look at an old diary.”