V
To Susan alone, under a pledge of secrecy, Quinney became alluringly expansive. Once, in her flapper days, she had seen Lord George Sanger's famous three-ring circus, and had tried to take in and assimilate three simultaneous shows. Result—a headache! Peering into Quinney's mind was quite as exciting as the three-ring circus, and nearly as confusing. He could soar to the giddy pinnacles of Melchester Cathedral, and thence, with a swallow's flight, wing his way through the open windows of a stately pile of buildings designed by Inigo Jones for the fourth Marquess of Mel.
Indeed, the door had not closed behind the ample rotundities of Mrs. Biddlecombe when he asked abruptly:
"Ever seen the Saloon at Mel Court?"
"Never, Joe."
"It's furnished just right according to my ideas. I want to have furniture of that sort. Georgian—hey? We'll go there together, when the family are in town. In that Saloon I feel as I do in the Cathedral—reg'lar saint! It's spiffin'! And every bit of the period. Not all English—that don't matter. The china will make your mouth fairly water, the finest Oriental! Pictures, too, but of course we can't touch them yet."
Susan gazed anxiously into his face, which was glowing with enthusiasm.
"Joe, dear, shall I fetch you a glass of barley water?"
"Barley water? Not for Joe! I've thought of that, too, my pretty. I'm going to have a cellar. None o' your cheap poisons! Sound port and old brown sherry, in cut-glass decanters!"
Susan opened her mouth, closed it, and burst into tears. At the moment she believed that her clever Joe had gone quite mad. The young man kissed away her tears, and soon brought the ready smile back to her lips, as the sanity which informed so remarkably his powers of speech percolated through her mind. He might say the strangest and most surprising things, but they were convincing, indeed overpoweringly so. He held her hands, as he talked, in his masterful grip, and looked keenly into her soft brown eyes.