Her brother's brows contracted slightly.
“Foxhills isn't going to be reopened. You know quite well the size of staff you'd need to run it properly; and I don't propose to pay on that scale merely in order to stay at Foxhills for a month or so and then shut it up again. Besides, Jay, this new golf-course has changed things a bit. I'm trying to let Foxhills; and if I got a tenant, we might have to clear out of the place before we'd got well settled down in it. This hotel and the new course between them are going to make Lynden Sands more popular before long. There's a fair chance of getting Foxhills leased.”
Miss Fordingbridge was manifestly taken aback by this information.
“You're trying to let Foxhills—our old house? Why, it isn't yours to let! It belongs to Derek.”
Paul Fordingbridge seemed to be flicked on the raw. There was a certain asperity in his tone as he replied.
“Whether it belongs to Derek or merely belonged to Derek is an open question. He hasn't turned up to let us decide the point one way or the other.”
He glanced at his sister's face and apparently read something in her expression, for he continued with a faint rasp in his tone.
“I thought I'd made the position clear enough to you already, but, as you don't seem to grasp it even yet, I'll go over it once more. But this must be the last time, Jay. I'm really tired of making the thing clear to you when you evidently won't take the trouble to understand how I'm placed.”
He paused for a moment, as though to put his facts in order before stating his case.
“Since this is the last time I'm going to discuss the thing with you, I'll go right back to the beginning; and you'll be good enough to give me your attention, Jay. I'm tired of the subject; and specially tired of explaining it to you, as you never listen.