“You shall have it. And nurseries.” His voice was perfectly matter-of-fact. “The two sunny rooms up top will do. I’ll have bars to the windows; it’s as well to be ready.”
“Not too ready,” she said faintly, hardly knowing whether to retreat or to laugh.
“A son,” Jethro said dreamily, “to come beating with me when shooting’s on. They soon grow up. He shall have a little horse and ride to hounds. We say in these parts about a woman’s children:
“If ye’ve got one, ye can run. If ye’ve got two, ye can goo.
But if ye’ve got three ye must bide where ye be.”
She got up nervously, not knowing whether he would be betrayed into rustic sayings yet more suggestive.
“I’d like to go to Liddleshorn to-morrow,” she said, folding the check in her purse. “There will be time before dinner to run over to Turle and see if Aunt Sophy can come with me—if you wish it.”
“She’s a splendid manager.”
“Very well. I’ll take her and Nancy. What are you doing this morning? We might go to Turle together.”
“I must see Boyce”—(he was the cowman)—“about those newly dropped lambs. He thought maybe you’d like a sock.”