“Thanks. There seems to be a lot of sickness.”
Lady Selina sighed. Her comely face assumed a resigned expression, as she murmured devoutly:
“Alas! Poverty and disease are with us always.”
“Always, but not everywhere,” Grimshaw replied lightly. “Your neighbour, Lord Wilverley, is proud of his exceptionally low death-rate, so I am told.”
“Ah. Wilverley lies higher.”
“And enjoys a system of drainage.”
Lady Selina’s eyes sparkled. Lord Wilverley happened to be a personal friend, and a magnate, comfortably independent because of London ground rents, able to afford expensive improvements. Also he was a bachelor, on the sunny side of forty. Nobody had guessed that Lady Selina cherished the hope that Wilverley’s lord might come to Upworthy for a wife. Already his friendship with Cicely had showed signs (to her eye alone) of a warmer complexion. And yet, behind this rankled a certain jealousy, because Wilverley had been acclaimed a model estate. She turned to Pawley.
“We contend, don’t we, Dr. Pawley, that open drainage is best?”
“I have heard you say so, Lady Selina.”
“It is best for us doctors,” said Grimshaw. “I noticed that most of your cottages are thatched.”