“Oh, Mrs. Busson,” Andrew had begun, “I’m very much interested in spider’s webs, so I want to examine those which are over that sort of door, near the linen-press.”
“Oh, you can’t go fussing there,” had been the unusually sharp reply; “besides, it’s too dark.”
“Oh, of course, I shall take a candle,” said Andrew, coolly.
“Then, of course, you won’t,” said Mrs. Busson, very decidedly.
“But I mean to,” persisted Andrew.
“And I mean you shan’t,” was the retort. “I’m not going to have the place set on fire, I can tell you.”
“But I shall go with Andrew, and hold the candle,” Di had volunteered. Only she and Andrew were present, for they had taken care to wait for this interview till the others were out of hearing.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” said Mrs. Busson, firmly. “If you want spiders’ webs, you can find plenty of them down in the cider cellar.”
“I don’t choose to go down there,” said Andrew; whilst Di added, with a thoughtfulness that was very foreign to her general behaviour: “It is much too damp for Andrew to go underground.”
“Then stay above ground, and don’t worry,” said Mrs. Busson.