“If your mother will be guided by Lord Wilverley, all will be well. He is a man of remarkable executive ability. But, if you have any influence, entreat Lady Selina to give him a free hand.”
“I promise to do that.”
“What it will mean to this village is—immeasurable. And co-operation between two large owners may lead to the one thing needful—a more general realisation of what union can achieve. A league of landlords is wanted. The farmers should be asked to adopt a more definite policy, but most of them, again, are ignorant and obstinate.” His voice softened. “All this is hard luck on you.”
“They are fighting in France,” replied Cicely.
IV
Arthur Wilverley motored over at three, bringing with him his evening clothes and the pearls. The pearls and Lord Saltaire’s tiara had become, by this time, symbols to Cicely, symbols impossible to ignore. At a glance, she perceived that her lover had bought a perfect string, superbly gradated. It must have cost thousands! Their first greeting had been perfunctory. He came into Lady Selina’s sitting-room and kissed Cicely. He was about to shake hands with Lady Selina, when she said impulsively:
“Kiss me, my dear son.”
She spoke with such a charming spontaneity that he hugged her. And then he began to speak boyishly of what he had done in London, describing the apartment and its furniture. Apparently, it had belonged to a connoisseur, a collector, whose daughter, oddly enough, disdained Chippendale chairs, and porcelain, and mezzotints.
“I’m offered the lot, so the agent says, cheap. Really it’s a gilt-edged opportunity.”
“Not to be missed,” affirmed Lady Selina.