“I don’t see how I can face him again, mater. I’d rather lose the three-hundred-pound cheque.”
“The cheque has nothing to do with the question. I should hope you are not attending to this for the three hundred pounds. But I’ll write you a cheque for five hundred, if that will satisfy you. Then I hope to hear no more about five hundred a year. Be consistent at least, Barnard.”
“Thanks, mater, I’ll try. And while you are writing out the cheque I’ll have a word with Lady Mary.”
“Very well,” said his mother, rising. The request did not seem to displease her.
When the young lady came in Barney was wonderfully bright after his long discussion.
“I was afraid I was in the way,” said Lady Mary, modestly, “I don’t know much about work-people.”
“The labour question,” said Barney, “is an exceedingly intricate one, and I’m afraid I don’t quite understand it in all its bearings myself; but it’s most interesting, I assure you—most interesting. I’m a labouring man myself, now. I’ve got my studio all fitted upland I work like a—let’s see, is it a Turk—or a nigger?”
“I think a nailer is the simile you want.”
“Very likely. I don’t suppose a Turk works if he can help it. Oh, by the way, Lady Mary, I have ‘At Homes’ at my studio every Tuesday from three till five. I wish you would come. Get your father to bring you. I want a real live Lord, don’t you know, to—well—to give tone to the gathering.”
Lady Mary laughed.