“We are very proud of our thatched cottages, aren’t we, Dr. Pawley?”
Pawley, with a touch of nervousness, squirming mentally, replied:
“Thatch upon thatch, Lady Selina, is hygienically unsound.”
She blinked at him, quite astounded. Grimshaw caught a sub-acid inflection as she riposted swiftly:
“Is it? Why didn’t you say so before?” She looked at Grimshaw. “I’m always approachable where the interests of my people are concerned. I have never refused a favour to a tenant without giving him convincing reasons. Have I, Dr. Pawley?”
“Never,” affirmed Pawley.
Grimshaw, sorry for Pawley but much amused, and not forgetting honest John Gridley, said smoothly:
“Your land agent ought to have told you, Lady Selina. It was his business.”
“But I am my own land agent. My bailiff is a capable fellow of the farmer class. I can’t afford such an expert as Lord Wilverley employs.” She continued gently: “Between ourselves, Mr. Grimshaw, lack of means prevents my doing many desirable things. I ought to rebuild my garage, which is perilously near my house. I ought to put in a local water system. As for my bailiff, he obeys my orders. I don’t ask you to work with him. I hope that you will work with me.”
She was getting the best of it, and knew it. Grimshaw acknowledged that he was “touched,” as fencers put it.