“One thing, Agatha, we may congratulate ourselves upon, at any rate,” said the Proconsul. “Vandeleur took it much better than we had reason to expect.”
“That is very well, Wally. But don’t let us congratulate ourselves too soon. It may not be so easy to get him to withdraw as Mr. Vandeleur supposes.”
“But if we offer a clean slate?” said the Proconsul.
“When a man is clearly infatuated,” said Mother, who was often inclined to sententiousness about this hour of the evening, “you can count on nothing beyond the fact that She will make herself as disagreeable as possible.”
In what manner should the olive-branch be conveyed by the dove of peace? Delicacy was called for. Was Mother or was Father the better qualified to exercise it? Mother had not been altogether a success in the rôle of the diplomatist at large. It was idle to shut one’s eyes to that fact, wasn’t it? But then, had Father? Really, if it came to that, neither had much margin for self-congratulation. And when all is said, Humble Pie is not a very eupeptic form of diet.
“Wally,” said the Colthurst of Suffolk at the breakfast table on the following morning, “I have given the matter most anxious consideration, and I think, having regard to everything, it is, perhaps, best left in my hands.”
The Proconsul looked just a little dubious as he removed the top of a hard-boiled egg.
“You are quite sure, Agatha, that you feel competent?”
“Quite, Wally.”
“Well, perhaps you are right. I hope so, at all events.”