"My dear," he interrupted, his face overcast, "the season is nearly over. It will be of no use going there now."
"Plenty of use. We shall have quite six weeks of it. Don't look cross, Val; I have set my heart upon it."
"But have you considered the difficulties? In the first place, we have no house in town; in the second—"
"Oh yes we have: a very good house."
Lord Hartledon paused, and looked at her; he thought she was joking. "Where is it?" he asked in merry tones; "at the top of the Monument?"
"It is in Piccadilly," she coolly replied. "Do you remember, some days ago, I read out an advertisement of a house that was to be let there for the remainder of the season, and remarked that it would suit us?"
"That it might suit us, had we wanted one," put in Val.
"I wrote off at once to mamma, and begged her to see after it and engage it for us," she continued, disregarding her husband's amendment. "She now tells me she has done so, and ordered servants up from Hartledon. By the time this letter reaches me she says it will be in readiness."
Lord Hartledon in his astonishment could scarcely find words to reply. "You wrote—yourself—and ordered the house to be taken?"
"Yes. You are difficult to convince, Val."