“I like them tolerably,” smiled Claudia, watching the noisy ducks waddling in the pond. “But why——?”
“You’ll like them intolerably soon. Wait till they arrive in barrels! But, as the novels say—I anticipate. Over lunch I will to thee impart the great news. Glory! Hallelujah! there’s an imitation of a bathroom. I shall have to bath in instalments, but I had awful visions of an egg-cup in my bedroom. No, wait till we’ve started lunch.”
“I can guess one thing,” said Claudia, with a slight effort. “You are going to leave home. The house of Circe will soon be empty of her children.”
“It will. Where’s that wild beast gone to? He mustn’t kill all the ducks. Oh, here he is! You idiot, that’s a turnip. Turnips don’t need catching. You are discredited as a sportsman. Anyone can catch a turnip.... Well, do you remember the talk we had when I said matrimony was not for me and you pretended not to believe me?”
“And now——”
“Now I’m sure of it. Look at me well, Claudia. I am a woman to be respected. Here at this table behold a farmeress! Salute her with the gravy-spoon!”
“A what!”
“A farmeress—feminine of farmer. I am the legal owner of a fruit-farm in Canada, and another of England’s unemployed will, at the beginning of next month, emigrate and leave the sinking ship. It’s rude to stare, my dear sister. Isn’t it a brilliant idea? Alone I did it. At least, no. I got the idea and Colin Paton helped me to get the farm and see that it was genuine and above-board. Why, Claud, old girl, what’s the matter?”
For suddenly Claudia found herself half laughing, half crying, and nearer hysterics than she had ever been in her life. She had a silly, light-headed sort of feeling that she could not account for. She seemed suddenly freed from a suffocating sensation that had oppressed her lately. She had never before experienced the sensation of wanting to laugh and cry at the same time. Indeed, she had always despised people who got so muddled in their emotions. But though she made an effort to keep on laughing—there was nothing really to cry about—the tears ran down her cheeks.
“It’s all right, Pat.... It’s being shut up with the Curreys and the strike, I think.... Oh! Socky!” For the dog, very perturbed, was standing with his feet on her shoulders, showering moist kisses upon her. “Socky, go away ... give me some water ... all over.”