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office.Butitwasanasylum.Andthey’rejust
assecretiveabouttheproperty.”
“Butyounevertalkaboutthepropertytillafterthe
funeral,”saidGeorgie.“Ibelieveit’sto-morrow.”
Mrs.Quantockgaveaprodigioussniff.
“Theywouldhave,iftherehadn’tbeenany,”she
said.
“Howhorridyouare,”saidGeorgie.“How–”
Hisspeechwascutoffbyseveralloudsneezes.
Howeverbeautifulthesleeve-links,itwasn’twise
tostandwithoutacoatafterbeinginsuchaheat.
“Howwhat?”askedMrs.Quantock,whenthe
sneezingwasover.
“I’veforgottennow.Ishallgetbacktomyrolling.
Alittlechilly.I’vedonehalfthelawn.”
Atelephone-bellhadbeenringingforthelastfew
seconds,andMrs.Quantocklocaliseditasbeinginhis
house,nothers.Georgiewasratherdeaf,however
muchhepretendednottobe.
“Yourtelephonebell’sringing,Georgie,”shesaid.
“Ithoughtitwas,”saidGeorgie,whohadnotheard
itatall.
“Andcomeinpresentlyforacupoftea,”shouted
Mrs.Quantock.
“Shouldloveto.ButImusthaveabathfirst.”
Georgiehurriedindoors,foratelephonecallusually
meantalittlegossipwithafriend.Averyfamiliar
voice,thoughalittlehuskyandbroken,askedifitwas
he.
“Yes,it’sme,Lucia,”hesaidinsoftfirmtones
ofsympathy.“Howareyou?”
Luciasighed.Itwasalong,veryaudible,intentional
sigh.Georgiecouldvisualiseherputtinghermouth
quiteclosetothetelephone,soastomakesure
itcarried.
“Quitewell,”shesaid.“AndsoismyPepino,thank
heaven.Bearingupwonderfully.He’sjustgone.”
Georgiewasonthepointofaskingwhere,but
guessedintime.
