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

been busy indoors this afternoon, for he had been attending to his hair, and it was not quite dry yet, and the smell of the auburn mixture still clung to it. But the telephone was a trunk call, and, whether his hair was dry or not, it must be attended to. Since Lucia had disappeared after that weekend party, he had had a line from her once or twice, saying that they must really settle when he would come and spend a few days in London, but she had never descended to the sordid mention of dates.

      A trunk call, as far as he knew, could only be Lucia or Olga, and one would be interesting and the other delightful. It proved to be the interesting one, and though rather difficult to understand because of the aforesaid mixture of baby-talk and Italian, it certainly conveyed the gist of the originator's intention.

      "Me so tired," Lucia said, "and it will be divine to get to Riseholme again. So come to 'ickle quiet din-din with me and Peppino tomorrow, Georgino. Shall want to hear all novelle —"

      "What?" said Georgie.

      "All the news," said Lucia.

      Georgie sat in the draught — it was very hot today — until the auburn mixture dried. He knew that Daisy Quantock and Robert were playing clock-golf on the other side of his garden paling, for their voices had been very audible. Daisy had not been weeding much lately but had taken to golf, and since all the authorities said that matches were entirely won or lost on the putting-green, she with her usual wisdom devoted herself to the winning factor in the game. Presently she would learn to drive and approach and niblick and that sort of thing, and then they would see . . . She wondered how good Miss Wethered really was.

      Georgie, now dry, tripped out into the garden and shouted "May I come in?" That meant, of course, might he look over the garden-paling and talk.

      Daisy missed a very short putt, owing to the interruption.

      "Yes, do," she said icily. "I supposed you would give me that, Robert."

      "You supposed wrong," said Robert, who was now two up.

      Georgie stepped on a beautiful pansy.

      "Lucia's coming down tomorrow," he said.

      Daisy dropped her putter.

      "No!" she exclaimed.

      "And Peppino," went on Georgie. "She says she's very tired."

      "All those duchesses," said Daisy. Robert Alton's cartoon had been reproduced in an illustrated weekly, but Riseholme up to this moment had been absolutely silent about it. It was beneath notice.

      "And she's asked me to dinner tomorrow," said Georgie.

      "So she's not bringing down a party?" said Daisy.

      "I don't know," remarked Robert, "if you are going on putting, or if you give me the match."

      "Pouf!" said Daisy, just like that. "But tired, Georgie? What does that mean?"

      "I don't know," said Georgie, "but that's what she said."

      "It means something else," said Daisy, "I can't tell you what, but it doesn't mean that. I suppose you've said you're engaged."

      "No I haven't," said Georgie.

      De Vere came out from the house. In this dry weather her heels made no indentations on the lawn.

      "Trunk call, ma'am," she said to Daisy.

      "These tiresome interruptions," said Daisy, hurrying indoors with great alacrity.

      Georgie lingered. He longed to know what the trunk call was, and was determined to remain with his head on the top of the paling till Daisy came back. So he made conversation.

      "Your lawn is better than mine," he said pleasantly to Robert.

      Robert was cross at this delay.

      "That's not saying much," he observed.

      "I can't say any more," said Georgie, rather nettled. "And there's the leather-jacket grub I see has begun on yours. I dare say there won't be a blade of grass left presently."

      Robert changed the conversation: there were bare patches. "The Museum insurance," he said. "I got the fire-policy this morning. The contents are the property of the four trustees, me and you and Daisy and Mrs Boucher. The building is Colonel Boucher's, and that's insured separately. If you had a spark of enterprise about you, you would take a match, set light to the mittens, and hope for the best."

      "You're very tarsome and cross," said Georgie. "I should like to take a match and set light to you."

      Georgie hated rude conversations like this, but when Robert was in such a mood, it was best to be playful. He did not mean, in any case, to cease leaning over the garden paling till Daisy came back from her trunk call.

      "Beyond the mittens," began Robert, "and, of course, those three sketches of yours, which I dare say are masterpieces —"

      Daisy bowled out of the dining-room and came with such speed down the steps that she nearly fell into the circular bed where the broccoli had been. (The mignonette there was poorish.)

      "At half-past one or two," said she, bursting with the news and at the same time unable to suppress her gift for withering sarcasm. "Lunch tomorrow. Just a picnic, you know, as soon as she happens to arrive. So kind of her. More notice than she took of me last time."

      "Lucia?" asked Georgie.

      "Yes. Let me see, I was putting, wasn't I?"

      "If you call it putting," said Robert. He was not often two up and he made the most of it.

      "So I suppose you said you were engaged," said Georgie.

      Daisy did not trouble to reply at all. She merely went on putting. That was the way to deal with inquisitive questions.

      This news, therefore, was very soon all over Riseholme, and next morning it was supplemented by the amazing announcement in The Times, Morning Post, Daily Telegraph and Daily Mail that Mrs Philip Lucas had left London for two or three days' complete rest. It sounded incredible to Riseholme, but of course it might be true and, as Daisy had said, that the duchesses had been too much for her. (This was nearer the mark than the sarcastic Daisy had known, for it was absolutely and literally true that one Duchess had been too much for her . . .) In any case, Lucia was coming back to them again, and though Riseholme was still a little dignified and reticent, Georgie's acceptance of his dinner-invitation, and Daisy's of her lunch-invitation, were symptomatic of Riseholme's feelings. Lucia had foully deserted them, she had been down here only once since that fatal accession to fortune, and on that occasion had evidently intended to see nothing of her old friends while that Yahoo party ("Yahoo" was the only word for Mrs Alingsby) was with her; she had laughed at their Museum, she had courted the vulgar publicity of the press to record her movements in London, but Riseholme was really perfectly willing to forget and forgive if she behaved properly now. For, though no one would have confessed it, they missed her more and more. In spite of all her bullying monarchical ways, she had initiative, and though the excitement of the Museum and the sagas from Abfou had kept them going for a while, it was really in relation to Lucia that these enterprises had been interesting. Since then, too, Abfou had been full of vain repetitions, and no one could go on being excited by his denunciation of Lucia as a snob, indefinitely. Lucia had personality, and if she had been here and had taken to golf Riseholme would have been thrilled at her skill, and have exulted over her want of it, whereas Daisy's wonderful scores at clock-golf (she was off her game today) produced no real interest. Degrading, too, as were the records of Lucia's movements in the columns of Hermione, Riseholme had been thrilled (though disgusted) by them, because they were about Lucia, and though she was coming down now for complete rest (whatever that might mean), the mere fact of her being here would make things hum. This time too she had behaved properly (perhaps she had learned wisdom) and had announced her coming, and asked old friends in.

      Forgiveness, therefore, and excitement were the prevalent emotions in the morning parliament on the green next day. Mrs Boucher alone expressed grave doubts on the situation.

      "I don't believe she's ill," she said. "If she's ill, I shall be very sorry, but I don't believe