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

a loud in an awed tone . . . Victorious Vittoria!

      The committee, of course, met next morning, and Robert as financial adviser was specially asked to attend. Georgie arrived at Mrs Boucher's house where the meeting was held before Daisy and Robert got there, and Mrs Boucher could hardly greet him, so excited was she.

      "I call it most remarkable," she said. "Dog and angry old woman never convinced me, but this is beyond anything. Fire, water, moonlight! It's prophecy, nothing less than prophecy. I shall believe anything Vittoria says, for the future. As for Abfou — well —"

      She tactfully broke off at Daisy's and Robert's entrance.

      "Good-morning," she said. "And good-morning, Mr Robert. This is a disaster, indeed. All Mr Georgie's sketches, and the walking-sticks, and the mittens and the spit. Nothing left at all."

      Robert seemed amazingly cheerful.

      "I don't see it as such a disaster," he said. "Lucky I had those insurances executed. We get two thousand pounds from the company, of which five hundred goes to Colonel Boucher for his barn — I mean the Museum."

      "Well, that's something," said Mrs Boucher. "And the rest? I never could understand about insurances. They've always been a sealed book to me."

      "Well, the rest belongs to those who put the money up to equip the Museum," he said. "In proportion, of course, to the sums they advanced. Altogether four hundred and fifty pounds was put up, you and Daisy and Georgie each put in fifty. The rest, well, I advanced the rest."

      There were some rapid and silent calculations made. It seemed rather hard that Robert should get such a lot. Business always seemed to favour the rich. But Robert didn't seem the least ashamed of that. He treated it as a perfect matter of course.

      "The — the treasures in the Museum almost all belonged to the committee," he went on. They were given to the Museum, which was the property of the committee. Quite simple. If it had been a loan collection now — well, we shouldn't be finding quite such a bright lining to our cloud. I'll manage the insurance business for you, and pay you pleasant little cheques all round. The company, no doubt, will ask a few questions as to the origin of the fire."

      "Ah, there's a mystery for you," said Mrs Boucher. "The oil-stoves were always put out in the evening, after burning all day, and how a fire broke out in the middle of the night beats me."

      Daisy's mouth twitched. Then she pulled herself together.

      "Most mysterious," she said, and looked carelessly out of the window to where the debris of the Museum was still steaming. Simultaneously, Georgie gave a little start, and instantly changed the subject, rapping on the table.

      "There's one thing we've forgotten," said he. "It wasn't entirely our property. Queen Charlotte's mittens were only on loan."

      The faces of the Committee fell slightly.

      "A shilling or two," said Mrs Boucher hopefully. "I'm only glad we didn't have Pug as well. Lucia got us out of that!"

      Instantly the words of Vittoria about the dog and the angry old woman, and fire and water and moonlight occurred to everybody. Most of all they occurred to Daisy, and there was a slight pause, which might have become awkward if it had continued. It was broken by the entry of Mrs Boucher's parlour-maid, who carried a letter in a large square envelope with a deep mourning border, and a huge coronet on the flap.

      "Addressed to the Museum Committee, ma'am," she said.

      Mrs Boucher opened it, and her face flushed.

      "Well, she's lost no time," she said. "Lady Ambermere. I think I had better read it."

      "Please," said everybody in rather strained voices.

      Mrs Boucher read:

      Ladies and Gentlemen of the Committee of Riseholme Museum

      Your little Museum, I hear, has been totally destroyed with all its contents by fire. I have to remind you therefore that the mittens of her late Majesty Queen Charlotte were there on loan, as lent by me. No equivalent in money can really make up for the loss of so irreplaceable a relic, but I should be glad to know, as soon as possible, what compensation you propose to offer me.

      The figure that has been suggested to me is £50, and an early cheque would oblige.

      Faithfully yours,

      CORNELIA AMBERMERE

      A dead silence succeeded, broken by Mrs Boucher as soon as her indignation allowed her to speak.

      "I would sooner," she said, "go to law about it, and appeal if it went against us, and carry it up to the House of Lords, than pay fifty pounds for those rubbishy things. Why, the whole contents of the Museum weren't worth more than — well, leave it at that."

      The figure at which the contents of the Museum had been insured floated into everybody's mind, and it was more dignified to "leave it at that," and not let the imagination play over the probable end of Mrs Boucher's sentence.

      The meeting entirely concurred, but nobody, not even Robert, knew what to do next.

      "I propose offering her ten pounds," said Georgie at last, "and I call that handsome."

      "Five," said Daisy, like an auction reversed.

      Robert rubbed the top of his head, as was his custom in perplexity.

      "Difficult to know what to do," he said. "I don't know of any standard of valuation for the old clothes of deceased queens."

      "Two," said Mrs Boucher, continuing the auction, "and that's a fancy price. What would Pug have been, I wonder, if we're asked fifty pounds for two old mittens. A pound each, I say, and that's a monstrous price. And if you want to know who suggested to Lady Ambermere to ask fifty, I can tell you, and her name was Cornelia Ambermere."

      This proposal of Lady Ambermere's rather damped the secret exaltation of the committee, though it stirred a pleasant feeling of rage. Fifty pounds was a paltry sum compared to what they would receive from the insurance company, but the sense of the attempt to impose on them caused laudable resentment. They broke up, to consider separately what was to be done, and to poke about the ashes of the Museum, all feeling very rich. The rest of Riseholme were there, of course, also poking about, Piggie and Goosie skipping over smouldering heaps of ash, and Mrs Antrobus, and the vicar and the curate, and Mr Stratton. Only Lucia was absent, and Georgie, after satisfying himself that nothing whatever remained of his sketches, popped in to The Hurst.

      Lucia was in the music-room reading the paper. She had heard, of course, about the total destruction of the Museum, that ridiculous invention of Daisy and Abfou, but not a shadow of exultation betrayed itself.

      "My dear, too sad about the Museum," she said. "All your beautiful things. Poor Daisy, too, her idea."

      Georgie explained about the silver lining to the cloud.

      "But what's so marvellous," he said, "is Vittoria. Fire, water, moonlight. I never heard of anything so extraordinary, and I thought it only meant the damp on the walls, and the new oil-stoves. It was prophetical, Lucia, and Mrs Boucher thinks so too."

      Lucia still showed no elation. Oddly enough, she had thought it meant damp and oil-stoves, too, for she did remember what Georgie had forgotten that he had told her just before the epiphany of Vittoria. But now this stupendous fulfilment of Vittoria's communication of which she had never dreamed, had happened. As for Abfou, it was a mere waste of time to give another thought to poor dear malicious Abfou. She sighed.

      "Yes, Georgie, it was strange," she said. "That was our first sitting, wasn't it? When I got so drowsy and felt so queer. Very strange indeed: convincing, I think. But whether I shall go on sitting now, I hardly know."

      "Oh, but you must," said Georgie. "After all the rubbish —"

      Lucia held up a finger.

      "Now, Georgie, don't be unkind," she said. "Let us say, 'Poor Daisy,' and leave it there. That's all. Any other news?"

      Georgie retailed the monstrous demand of Lady