“Bad for them, I should think. Are you fond of tortoises?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Not very.”
“Then,” said Sam magnanimously, “we will waive the tortoise.”
“It sounds like a forgotten sport of the past—Waving the Tortoise.”
“To resume. We decide on the farm. Right! Now where is it to be? You are a Wiltshire girl, so no doubt will prefer that county. I can’t afford to buy back Midways for you, I’m afraid, unless on second thoughts I decide to stick to the entire proceeds instead of handing them back to the bank—we shall have to talk that over later—but isn’t there some old greystone, honeysuckle-covered place in the famous Braddock estates?”
“Good heavens!”
“What’s the matter?”
“You said you had left that man in your drawing-room.”
“Well?”