“So I do. When people are in your position they always withdraw to their Black Hazel or whatever their retreat is called. They don’t go on living in the world. Black Hazel is a delightful place. It will be much better than a second floor in Florence, or a boarding house in Dresden, which many people come to who are in your plight.”
His sister looked at her watch.
“My dear Ronald, I have no more time to spare you,” she said rather insolently. “And if you can suggest nothing more sensible than a second floor in Florence, or a bog in Ireland, I shall lose little by not hearing anything more that you may have to say.”
“I have given you my opinion and my advice,” said Hurstmanceaux stiffly. “You can live at Black Hazel tolerably well, and in a way becoming your position; the air is very fine and the children will thrive admirably. But if you persist in continuing your present rate of expenditure——”
His sister opened the door and disappeared, calling the Blenheims with her.
“Lord, excuse me, Ronnie, but why do you talk that rot?” said her husband, peering up through his glasses at his brother-in-law. “What on earth is the use of going on in that way to her? Out o’ London? Down in the west of Ireland? Your sister and me? Oh, Lord!”
The idea of his exile from “life” so tickled his fancy that he laughed till he choked himself.
“Black Hazel! Mouse and I and her chicks at Black Hazel! Oh, good Lord, Ronnie! You won’t beat that if you try for a week o’ Sundays!”
He chuckled feebly but merrily.
“What is there to laugh at?” said Hurstmanceaux. “Is the Bankruptcy Court more agreeable than a country place which is your own and where you will be your own master?”