The Greatest Works of E. F. Benson (Illustrated Edition). E. F. Benson

said Lucia. "That will be nice then. Oh, how nervous I shall be."

      Daisy made one final effort to avert her downfall, by offering, as they went out that afternoon, to give Lucia a stroke a hole. Lucia said she knew she could do it, but might they, just for fun, play level? And as the round proceeded, Lucia's kindness was almost intolerable. She could see, she said, that Daisy was completely off her game, when Daisy wasn't in the least off her game: she said, 'Oh, that was bad luck!' when Daisy missed short putts: she begged her to pick her ball out of bushes and not count it . . . At half-past four Riseholme knew that Daisy had halved four holes and lost the other five. Her short reign as Queen of Golf had come to an end.

      * * *

      The Museum Committee met after tea at Mrs Boucher's (Daisy did not hold her golfing-class in the garden that day) and tact, Georgie felt, seemed to indicate that Lucia's name should not be suggested as a new member of the committee so swiftly on the heels of Daisy's disaster. Mrs Boucher, privately consulted, concurred, though with some rather stinging remarks as to Daisy's having deceived them all about her golf, and the business of the meeting was chiefly concerned with the proposed closing down of the Museum for the winter. The tourist season was over, no char-a-bancs came any more with visitors, and for three days not a soul had passed the turnstile.

      "So where's the use," asked Mrs Boucher, "of paying a boy to let people into the Museum when nobody wants to be let in? I call it throwing money away. Far better close it till the spring, and have no more expense, except to pay him a shilling a week to open the windows and air it, say on Tuesday and Friday, or Wednesday and Saturday."

      "I should suggest Monday and Thursday," said Daisy, very decisively. If she couldn't have it all her own way on the links, she could make herself felt on committees.

      "Very well, Monday and Thursday," said Mrs Boucher. "And then there's another thing. It's getting so damp in there, that if you wanted a cold bath, you might undress and stand there. The water's pouring off the walls. A couple of oil-stoves, I suggest, every day except when it's being aired. The boy will attend to them, and make it half a crown instead of a shilling. I'm going to Blitton tomorrow, and if that's your wish I'll order them. No: I'll bring them back with me, and I'll have them lit tomorrow morning. But unless you want to have nothing to show next spring but mildew, don't let us delay about it. A crop of mildew won't be sufficient attraction to visitors, and there'll be nothing else."

      Georgie rapped the table.

      "And I vote we take the manuscript of Lucrezia out, and that one of us keeps it till we open again," he said.

      "I should be happy to keep it," said Daisy.

      Georgie wanted it himself, but it was better not to thwart Daisy today. Besides, he was in a hurry, as Lucia had asked him to bring round his planchette and see if Abfou would not like a little attention. Nobody had talked to Abfou for weeks.

      "Very well," he said, "and if that's all —"

      "I'm not sure I shouldn't feel happier if it was at the bank," said Mrs Boucher. "Supposing it was stolen."

      Georgie magnanimously took Daisy's side: he knew how Daisy was feeling. Mrs Boucher was outvoted, and he got up.

      "If that's all then, I'll be off," he said.

      Daisy had a sort of conviction that he was going to do something with Lucia, perhaps have a lesson at golf.

      "Come in presently?" she said.

      "I can't, I'm afraid," he said. "I'm busy till dinner."

      And of course, on her way home, she saw him hurrying across to The Hurst with his planchette.

      Chapter Eleven

       Table of Contents

      Lucia made no allusion whatever to her athletic triumph in the afternoon when Georgie appeared. That was not her way: she just triumphed, and left other people to talk about it. But her principles did not prevent her speaking about golf in the abstract.

      "We must get more businesslike when you and I are on the committee, Georgie," she said. "We must have competitions and handicaps, and I will give a small silver cup, the President's Cup, to be competed for. There's no organisation at present, you see: great fun, but no organisation. We shall have to put our heads together over that. And foursomes: I have been reading about foursomes, when two people on one side hit the ball in turn. Peppino, I'm sure, would give a little cup for foursomes, the Lucas cup . . . And you've brought the planchette? You must teach me how to use it. What a good employment for winter evenings, Georgie. And we must have some bridge tournaments. Wet afternoons, you know, and then tea, and then some more bridge. But we will talk about all that presently, only I warn you I shall expect you to get up all sorts of diversions for Peppino."

      Lucia gave a little sigh.

      "Peppino adored London," she said, "and we must cheer him up, Georgie, and not let him feel dull. You must think of lots of little diversions: little pleasant bustling things for these long evenings: music, and bridge, and some planchette. Then I shall get up some Shakespeare readings, selections from plays, with a small part for Peppino and another for poor Daisy. I foresee already that I shall have a very busy autumn. But you must all be very kind and come here for our little entertainments. Madness for Peppino to go out after sunset. Now let us get to our planchette. How I do chatter, Georgie!"

      Georgie explained the technique of planchette, how important it was not to push, but on the other hand not to resist its independent motions. As he spoke Lucia glanced over the directions for planchette which he had brought with him.

      "We may not get anything," he said. "Abfou was very disappointing sometimes. We can go on talking: indeed, it is better not to attend to what it does."

      "I see," said Lucia, "let us go on talking then. How late you are, Georgie. I expected you half an hour ago. Oh, you said you might be detained by a Museum Committee meeting."

      "Yes, we settled to shut the Museum up for the winter," he said. "Just an oil-stove or two to keep it dry. I wanted — and so did Mrs Boucher, I know — to ask you —"

      He stopped, for Planchette had already begun to throb in a very extraordinary manner.

      "I believe something is going to happen," he said.

      "No! How interesting!" said Lucia. "What do we do?"

      "Nothing," said Georgie. "Just let it do what it likes. Let's concentrate: that means thinking of nothing at all."

      Georgie of course had noticed and inwardly applauded the lofty reticence which Lucia had shown about Daisy's disaster this afternoon. But he had the strongest suspicion of her wish to weedj, and he fully expected that if Abfou "came through" and talked anything but Arabic, he would express his scorn of Daisy's golf. There would be scathing remarks, corresponding to "snob" and those rude things about Lucia's shingling of her hair, and then he would feel that Lucia had pushed. She might say she hadn't, just as Daisy said she hadn't, but it would be very unconvincing if Abfou talked about golf. He hoped it wouldn't happen, for the very appositeness of Abfou's remarks before had strangely shaken his faith in Abfou. He had been willing to believe that it was Daisy's subconscious self that had inspired Abfou — or at any rate he tried to believe it — but it had been impossible to dissociate the complete Daisy from these violent criticisms.

      Planchette began to move.

      "Probably it's Arabic," said Georgie. "You never quite know. Empty your mind of everything, Lucia."

      She did not answer, and he looked up at her. She had that faraway expression which he associated with renderings of the "Moonlight Sonata". Then her eyes closed.

      Planchette was moving quietly and steadily along. When it came near the edge of the paper, it ran back and began again, and Georgie felt quite sure he wasn't pushing: he only wanted it not to waste its energy on the tablecloth. Once he felt almost certain that it traced out the word 'drive,' but one couldn't be sure. And was that 'committee'? His