Mr. Mortimer nodded triumphantly.
“Yes. I had completely resigned myself to the prospect of spending the summer in some other house, when yesterday I happened to run into your nephew, young Eustace Hignett, on the street, and he said he was just coming round to see me about that very thing. To cut a long story short, he said that it would be all right and that we could have the house.” Mr. Mortimer took a sip of burgundy. “He’s a curious boy, young Hignett. Very nervous in his manner.”
“Chronic dyspepsia,” said Mr. Bennett authoritatively, “I can tell it at a glance.”
“Is Windles a very lovely place, Sir Mallaby?” asked Billie.
“Charming. Quite charming. Not large, of course, as country houses go. Not a castle, I mean, with hundreds of acres of park land. But nice and compact and comfortable and very picturesque.”
“We do not require a large place,” said Mr. Mortimer. “We shall be quite a small party. Bennett and myself, Wilhelmina, Bream....”
“Don’t forget,” said Billie, “that you have promised to invite Jane Hubbard down there.”
“Ah, yes. Wilhelmina’s friend, Miss Hubbard. She is coming. That will be all, except young Hignett himself.”
“Hignett!” cried Mr. Bennett.
“Mr. Hignett!” exclaimed Billie.