“Oh, certainly, go ahead. I shan’t feel offended, if that’s what you mean. But I warn you that it’s quite useless—out of the question.”
The American made a non-committal gesture. Mrs. Brent thought it best to change the subject.
“This heat seems to be getting worse, if anything. I must really get a fan. I’m old-fashioned enough to have one.”
She rose and left the room. Wraxall transferred his interest to his host who was still gazing absently out over the gardens. Mrs. Brent’s evident amazement at his suggestion had given the American something to think about. Things were not going to be so simple as he had imagined. He glanced across at Rollo Dangerfield’s profile, trying to estimate the chances of overcoming his objections if he really proved obdurate.
“Why, he might be an old Norseman come to life,” Wraxall said to himself. “Put one of those winged helmets on his head, and with that profile and that big white moustache he could sit to any painter for the portrait of a Viking. He’s not likely to be anybody’s money when it comes to bargaining. Stubborn. Obstinate. It’s going to be none so easy after all.”
He studied his host covertly until he was interrupted by Mrs. Brent’s return. She slipped into her chair and began to fan herself with an air of relief.
“This is the kind of night when one appreciates the Dangerfield methods,” she said, after a time. “They know how I hate climbing stairs; and they gave me a room on the ground floor. It’s the only one; all the rest are above. I blessed them just now as I passed the staircase and remembered that I might have had to climb it. I’ve got to the age when one economises on the unnecessary as far as possible; and I count stair climbing as a luxury on that standard.”
A great moth swept suddenly in through the open window, veered and swerved blindly over Rollo Dangerfield’s head, and then blundered out once more into the darkness. Mrs. Brent followed its flight; and her eyes caught the sky beyond the embrasure.
“Rollo!” she raised her voice to attract his attention. “Is there any sign of that thunderstorm breaking? I wish it would come, and perhaps the air would clear a little after it.”
Old Dangerfield leaned forward a little and scanned the visible horizon.