"He thinks of buying a place," explained Miss York. "He says he's tired of wandering about, and wants to settle down."
I repressed a chuckle just in time.
"That would be very nice," said Aunt Mary complacently. "He is just the sort of man we want. I was telling him about the Primrose League, and he was most interested in it. He would be quite an acquisition to the neighbourhood—don't you think so, Lady Baradell?"
Lady Baradell smiled.
To me, the rest of the afternoon dragged in the most distressing fashion. Even if I had been able to take an interest in the cricket, I should still have been feverishly impatient for the evening. The thought of Mercia, helpless in the hands of that precious pack of scoundrels, filled me with a horrible restlessness that made the effort of sitting still and exchanging semi-humorous banalities about the match almost intolerable. I longed for Billy's wire, so that I might have an excuse for escaping into the house to put my things together.
As it was, I was compelled to sit matters out, until the game terminated in a glorious victory for the visitors by sixty-three runs. There were the usual congratulations and chaff,—poor Sir Charles Baradell coming in for a rather unfair share of the latter,—and then, after filling themselves up with tea to an alarming extent, the triumphant Orbridge warriors clambered into their brake and departed. It was while the rest of us were slowly making our way back up the garden that the telegram arrived.
I saw Maurice's butler advancing from the house bearing the inevitable silver tray, and all my muscles seemed instinctively to tighten. It's good to feel that the time for action is at hand, when you've been chafing your heart out all day.
I took the wire and opened it, with an apology to Aunt Mary.
"Must see you to-night. Important business in connection with the Company. JACOBS."
I gave a nicely calculated laugh, just tinged with annoyance.