Joyce answered as frankly: “As to that, Lionel, you can judge for yourself. Father thinks, as he always has thought, that if something is really wanted, he has only to ask for it, without”—she laughed not too mirthfully—“without any preliminary beating of bushes.”
“Your father is dead right about that. He’s the last man to ask for what isn’t really wanted.”
When Lionel insisted upon concrete information, Joyce told him the story of the chancel repairs, now in hand, thanks to Lady Pomfret’s promise. She ended dismally:
“Father, somehow, won’t realise that Sir Geoffrey is terribly cramped for ready money.”
Lionel muttered as dismally:
“Is it as bad as that?”
She nodded.
He went on excitedly: “This is a nasty jar, Joyce. I swear to you that it’s bad news for me. I never suspected it. He ought to have told me.”
A faint derision informed her next words.
“You ought to have guessed.”