Mr. S. The Buckinghamshire farm, yes. Thank you. I forget whether that is the leasehold or the freehold farm, for you have two.
Mrs. V. B. You mustn’t ask me. Your solicitor knows. It’s worth £500 a year, and that, I suppose, is the main point.
Mr. S. Not altogether; the difference in value may be prodigious. Have you a copy of the will?
Mrs. V. B. No. I never saw the will.
Mr. S. Never saw the will? I think I have a copy of it at home—with your permission, I will go and fetch it, and the matter can be decided at once.
Mrs. V. B. Do, by all means. I only know that my property is all my own, and that I can do what I like with it; and I assure you, Mr. Smailey, I avail myself of the privilege.
Mr. S. You do indeed. And that reminds me, Mrs. Van Brugh, that I am anxious to speak to you on another topic—a topic of a singularly painful character. I will endeavor, Mrs. Van Brugh, to approach it as delicately as possible.
Mrs. V. B. Indeed! (Alarmed.) You rouse my curiosity, Mr. Smailey. Does it—does it refer in any way to myself?
Mr. S. Directly to yourself.
Mrs. V. B. (much alarmed). May I ask in what way?