“’Tisn’t grammar, Bob.”
“What o’ ‘Lavinia,’ sir?”
“Rhymes truly but won’t suit.”
“I can’t think of any other, sir.”
“Neither can I, Bob ... ’tis the devil of a name!”
“Then why not choose another, sir?”
“Hum!” quoth Sir John. Here silence again, then: “What are ye doing there, Bob?”
“Going through estimates for repairs o’ cottages at High Dering and Selmeston, your honour.”
“Then take ’em for a walk.... She will help ye, Bob.”
“Aye, sir, she can write as plain as I can, and a wondrous ’ead for figures—so mar-vellous quick, sir, and——” Here, meeting Sir John’s quizzical glance, the Corporal checked and actually flushed.