THE COMPLETE WORKS OF E. F. BENSON (Illustrated Edition). Эдвард Бенсон

had certainly come to the Lucases . . . Mrs Antrobus spied Georgie going into Olga's house (for the keenness of her eyesight made up for her deafness), and there she was with her ear-trumpet adjusted, looking at the view just outside Old Place when Georgie came out. Already the popular estimate had grown like a gourd.

      "A quarter of a million, I'm told, Mr Georgie," said she, "and a house in Grosvenor Square, eh?"

      Before Georgie could reply, Mrs Antrobus's two daughters, Piggy and Goosey came bounding up hand in hand. Piggy and Goosey never walked like other people: they skipped and gambolled to show how girlish an age is thirty-four and thirty-five.

      "Oh stop, Mr Georgie," said Piggy. "Let us all hear. And are the pearls worth a Queen's ransom?"

      "Silly thing," said Goosie. "I don't believe in the pearls."

      "Well, I don't believe in Grosvenor Square," said Goosie. "So silly yourself!"

      When this ebullition of high spirits had subsided, and Piggy had slapped Goosie on the back of her hands, they both said "Hush!" simultaneously.

      "Well, I can't say about the pearls," said Georgie.

      "Eh, what can't you say?" said Mrs Antrobus.

      "About the pearls," said Georgie, addressing himself to the end of Mrs Antrobus's trumpet. It was like the trunk of a very short elephant, and she waved it about as if asking for a bun.

      "About the pearls, mamma," screamed Goosie and Piggy together. "Don't interrupt Mr Georgie."

      "And the house isn't in Grosvenor Square, but in Brompton Square," said Georgie.

      "But that's quite in the slums," said Mrs Antrobus. "I am disappointed."

      "Not at all, a charming neighbourhood," said Georgie. This was not at all what he had been looking forward to: he had expected cries of envious surprise at his news. "As for the fortune, about three thousand a year."

      "Is that all?" said Piggy with an air of deep disgust.

      "A mere pittance to millionaires like Piggy," said Goosie, and they slapped each other again.

      "Any more news?" asked Mrs Antrobus.

      "Yes," said Georgie, "Olga Bracely is coming down tomorrow —"

      "No!" said all the ladies together.

      "And her husband?" asked Piggy.

      "No," said Georgie without emphasis. "At least she didn't say so. But she wants all her friends to come to lunch on Sunday. So you'll all come, will you? She told me to ask everybody."

      "Yes," said Piggy. "Oh, how lovely! I adore Olga. Will she let me sit next her?"

      "Eh?" said Mrs Antrobus.

      "Lunch on Sunday, mamma, with Olga Bracely," screamed Goosie.

      "But she's not here," said Mrs Antrobus.

      "No, but she's coming, mamma," shouted Piggy. "Come along, Goosie. There's Mrs Boucher. We'll tell her about poor Mrs Lucas."

      Mrs Boucher's bath-chair was stationed opposite the butcher's, where her husband was ordering the joint for Sunday. Piggy and Goosie had poured the tale of Lucia's comparative poverty into her ear, before Georgie got to her. Here, however, it had a different reception, and Georgie found himself the hero of the hour.

      "An immense fortune. I call it an immense fortune," said Mrs Boucher, emphatically, as Georgie approached. "Good-morning, Mr Georgie, I've heard your news, and I hope Mrs Lucas will use it well. Brompton Square, too! I had an aunt who lived there once, my mother's sister, you understand, not my father's, and she used to say that she would sooner live in Brompton Square than in Buckingham Palace. What will they do with it, do you suppose? It must be worth its weight in gold. What a strange coincidence that Mr Lucas's aunt and mine should both have lived there! Any more news?"

      "Yes," said Georgie. "Olga is coming down tomorrow —"

      "Well, that's a bit of news!" said Mrs Boucher, as her husband came out of the butcher's shop. "Jacob, Olga's coming down tomorrow, so Mr Georgie says. That'll make you happy! You're madly in love with Olga, Jacob, so don't deny it. You're an old flirt, Jacob, that's what you are. I shan't get much of your attention till Olga goes away again. I should be ashamed at your age, I should. And young enough to be your daughter or mine either. And three thousand a year, Mr Georgie says. I call it an immense fortune. That's Mrs Lucas, you know. I thought perhaps two. I'm astounded. Why, when old Mrs Toppington — not the wife of the young Mr Toppington who married the niece of the man who invented laughing gas — but of his father, or perhaps his uncle, I can't be quite sure which, but when old Mr Toppington died, he left his son or nephew, whichever it was, a sum that brought him in just about that, and he was considered a very rich man. He had the house just beyond the church at Scroby Windham where my father was rector, and he built the new wing with the billiard-room —"

      Georgie knew he would never get through his morning's work if he listened to everything that Mrs Boucher had to say about young Mr Toppington, and broke in.

      "And she wants you and the Colonel to lunch with her on Sunday," he said. "She told me to ask all her old friends."

      "Well, I do call that kind," said Mrs Boucher, "and of course we'll go . . . Jacob, the joint. We shan't want the joint. I was going to give you a veal cutlet in the evening, so what's the good of a joint? Just a bit of steak for the servants, a nice piece. Well, that will be a treat, to lunch with our dear Olga! Quite a party, I dare say."

      Mrs Quantock's chicken, already countermanded, came in nicely for Georgie's dinner for Olga on Saturday, and by the time all his errands were done the morning was gone, without any practise at his piano, or work in his garden, or a single stitch in his new piece of embroidery. Fresh amazements awaited him when he made his fatigued return to his house. For Foljambe told him that Lucia had sent her maid to borrow his manual on auction bridge. He was too tired to puzzle over that now, but it was strange that Lucia, who despised any form of cards as only fit for those who had not the intelligence to talk or to listen, should have done that. Cards came next to crossword puzzles in Lucia's index of inanities. What did it mean?

      Neither Lucia nor Peppino were seen in public at all till Sunday morning, though Daisy Quantock had caught sight of Peppino on his arrival on Friday afternoon, walking bowed with grief and with a faltering gait through the little paved garden in front of The Hurst, to his door. Lucia opened it for him, and they both shook their heads sadly and passed inside. But it was believed that they never came out the whole of Saturday, and their first appearance was at church on Sunday, though indeed, Lucia could hardly be said to have appeared, so impenetrable was her black veil. But that, so to speak, was the end of all mourning (besides, everybody knew that she was dining with Olga that night), and at the end of the service, she put up her veil, and held a sort of little reception standing in the porch, and shaking hands with all her friends as they went out. It was generally felt that this signified her re-entry into Riseholme life.

      Hardly less conspicuous a figure was Georgie. Though Robert had been so sarcastic about his Oxford trousers, he had made up his mind to get it over, and after church he walked twice round the green quite slowly and talked to everybody, standing a little away so that they should get a complete view. The odious Piggy, it is true, burst into a squeal of laughter and cried, "Oh, Mr Georgie, I see you've gone into long frocks," and her mother put up her ear-trumpet as she approached as if to give a greater keenness to her general perceptions. But apart from the jarring incident of Piggy, Georgie was pleased with his trousers' reception. They were beautifully cut too, and fell in charming lines, and the sensation they created was quite a respectful one. But it had been an anxious morning, and he was pleased when it was over.

      And such a talk he had had with Olga last night, when she dined alone with him, and sat so long with her elbows on the table that Foljambe looked in three times in order to clear away. Her own adventures, she said, didn't matter; she could tell Georgie about the American tour and the Australian tour, and the coming season in London any time at leisure. What she had to know about with the utmost detail was exactly everything that had happened at Riseholme since she had left it a year ago.

      "Good