“What is it now?”
“Mr. Bonsor, Sir Gaffrey. He be due at Home Farm. If so be as you won’t see him——”
The Squire turned to his wife.
“I can’t see Bonsor this morning. You know, Mary, there is something about Bonsor’s face which irritates me beyond endurance. He invariably smiles when things go wrong.”
“See him, dear, and get it over.”
“Very well. I’ll see Mr. Bonsor here and now.”
“Yes, Sir Gaffrey.”
“And when you are speaking to me, Charles, kindly remove that imbecile grin. You would grin at your own mother’s funeral.”
“Yas, Sir Gaffrey; I mean, no. Mr. Fishpingle, he did tell me that you fancied a cheerful, upliftin’ countenance.”
“You take your orders from me for the future.”