"If the rent is too high—?" She was regarding him nervously.
"Not at all," he cried, "not at all. I was simply lost in the effulgent prospect that you've opened to me."
"Really?"
"It was an inspiration. How kind of you to mention it."
She deprecated gratitude. "There would be no children, of course?" she said, her gaze dwelling among her china.
"Four," he answered promptly. "That is, the youngest must be about thirty-five now. I beg your pardon, but I have had an inspiration, too, I'm dazzled by the idea of peopling the house with the men and women who were children here five-and-twenty years ago; I dare swear my relatives have never set foot in Sweetbay since. We'll be comrades all over again— You know how Time loosens these childish ties—in the very place, in the very rooms, where we were such comrades then. Why, it's the most delightful plan that was ever hatched!" He hesitated. "I wonder if they'll come? How about the trains? One of my cousins would have to go up rather often, I expect."
"The railway company has combined with Mother Nature and a spirited Corporation to render Sweetbay attractive to the jaded Londoner. The service is fast and frequent, and well-appointed 'flys' may be chartered at most reasonable fares," replied his hostess without an instant's pause.
"How convenient!" said Conrad. "What more can he want?"
"If you think your friends may need persuasion, I should be pleased to present you with a copy of a little work of mine to send them. It describes all the attractions of the neighbourhood—and it's quite unlike the usual guide-book. It is thorough, but chatty. My aim has been to inform the visitor in a sprightly way."
"An authoress?" he said warmly.