“I’ll fix the date. Can’t let you have my waggons to take the children until the 12th. You’d said the 5th. And if the date’s altered to suit me, Mrs. Thorpe must oblige you. And Mrs. Will and Mrs. Tom Werrit’ll follow her.”
It was Mr. Thorpe’s first effort at diplomacy, and he was fifty-one. No wonder he glowed with the late joy of the creator and forgot everything but the splendour of his own idea.
“My word. That’s a splendid plan. Awfully good of you,” said Andy with eager sincerity.
“But not a word to Mrs. Thorpe. Not a word,” chuckled Mr. Thorpe, going towards the door.
“You may rely on me,” said Andy warmly.
Mr. Thorpe paused with his hand on the door before opening it again.
“Look here,” he said. “You can’t know as much about women as I do. You come to me if you get stuck.”
He really felt, now he had started on a diplomatist’s career, that he should like to go on. He felt all the stirring pleasure of using talents hitherto unsuspected.
“I will,” said Andy gratefully, though he did think it rather ridiculous that fat Mr. Thorpe should consider he knew more about women than a young man who had been a curate in London.
“There’s a pack of women in Gaythorpe,” said Mr. Thorpe, opening the door. “Good-bye.”