After the restlessness of London, Eric could not at once accommodate himself to the leisurely contentment and placidity of Lashmar.
"Wake up, Geoff!" he cried.
The boy yawned and stretched himself like a cat, then became suddenly active and projected himself across the room, turning in the door-way to shout: "Bags I first bath, Ricky!"
"Well, don't take all the hot water," Eric begged. After the ingenious comfort of his flat in Ryder Street, he could not at once accommodate himself to the simplicity of the Mill-House. "Pity you never turned the east room into a bathroom," he said to his father. "You talked about it for years. We need another one."
It was an old controversy and part of Eric's persistent but fruitless campaign against the studiedly Spartan attitude of Lashmar Mill-House.
"It's rather an unnecessary expense. And we seem to struggle on without it," said Sir Francis.
"I avoid unnecessary struggles as much as possible," Eric answered shortly.
"You couldn't get the work done while the war's on," Sir Francis pointed out, rooting himself firmly in the particular.
Eric walked upstairs, reflecting in moody dissatisfaction on unnecessary struggles. No one ever laid out his dress clothes for him at Lashmar. It never had been done when he was a school-boy, carefully protected from pampering. Sporadic attempts were made, whenever he launched an offensive against the domestic economy of the house; but the maids were always changing, Lady Lane believed that all men-servants drank or stole the cigars.… In the last resort, these country-bred girls were so difficult to teach.…
Down the passage came the sound of emptying taps and a voice singing cheerfully in the bath.