"Flying ever to my heaven in Park Lane."
"Charming! But your tidings?"
"Are of Ascot, or, rather, of Sunninghill. My mission has been successful: the house is yours."
Mr. Rodney glanced at his long feet modestly. This was his way of concealing pride in his own resource and gratification at his own diplomacy.
"Ascot, Sunninghill!" Mrs. Verulam said, with an intonation of pretty bewilderment which was not assumed.
Mr. Rodney withdrew his eyes from his feet rather suddenly and looked at Mrs. Verulam.
"Surely you have not forgotten that in the early spring you commissioned me to get you Ribton Marches for the race week," he murmured, with a sort of soporific reproach.
"Oh! did I? Of course; now I remember."
"Only now?" He contrived a sigh that was an art product, and resumed: "I opened delicate negotiations about the matter on February the fourteenth, and have been proceeding carefully ever since. One false step would have been instant destruction."