‘Come upstairs and let us try on the wedding bonnets,’ said Clementina. ‘And be kind and nice, Bella. Recollect it is your last night at home.’
‘Thank God for that, at any rate,’ ejaculated Bella, piously.
The house had been transformed by an artificial and almost awful tidiness. Everything had been put away. The swept and garnished rooms were scarcely habitable.
‘I never saw such discomfort,’ cried Mr. Scratchell, looking discontentedly round his office, which smelt of soft soap, and was cleaner than he had ever seen it in his life.
His papers had all been stowed away, he knew not where. Valuable leases and agreements might have been thrust into obscure corners where they would be forgotten. The whole process horrified him.
‘You oughtn’t to have touched my office,’ he said, ‘business is business.’
‘I couldn’t help it,’ pleaded Mrs. Scratchell. ‘The men from Great Yafford said we must have a room for the gentlemen to put their hats and things, so I was obliged to give them this. You have no idea how they order us about. And then they asked me where they were to put your things, and almost before I told them, and while I was so flurried I scarcely knew what I was saying, your papers and tin boxes were all swept off.’
‘And pray where are they?’ demanded Mr. Scratchell, furiously.
‘I—don’t be angry, Scratchell. I couldn’t help it. They’re all safe—quite, quite safe—in the hay-loft.’
‘Where the rats are eating the Harefield leases, no doubt,’ said Mr. Scratchell.