“Naturally,” continued Mr. Thorpe in a tone that somehow responded to Andy’s, but in words which he had previously rehearsed to Mrs. Thorpe and did not intend to depart from—“Naturally it was narking to a well-known family like us Thorpes, with big farms all around Bardswell, to have the tale going about. If we’d thought she required the sideboard bought in, we should have bought it in. We knew she didn’t require it, so we didn’t buy it. But,” he added, unrehearsed, “all’s well that ends well, and so it is.”
“Anyway I promise not to buy any more sideboards,” said Andy with a rueful smile.
Mr. Thorpe relaxed altogether, and his black eyes began to twinkle in his fat red face.
“She run you up, I hear. You had to pay a matter of eight pounds odd more than you would have done if Miss Elizabeth hadn’t been there. Appears Mrs. Simpson had been complaining to both of you, and you neither of you knew the other was going to give it to her. Would have been a rare good joke under some circumstances.”
What Mr. Thorpe really meant was that it would have been a rare good joke if it had happened in the Werrit family—but he did not say so, even to himself. He added, instead—
“Handsome young lady, Miss Elizabeth. Though most people admire Miss Norah most. But she’s one of your clever ones—you don’t want a wife too clever.”
“Some people don’t want a wife at all,” said Andy, with self-conscious jocularity.
“But that’s neither you nor me, Mr. Deane,” said Mr. Thorpe with a fat wink.
Andy drew himself up and toyed with the paperknife.
“Yes—that’s what I came about,” said Mr. Thorpe, responding to the check. “It appears that you’ve consulted Miss Fanny Kirke about the date.”
“Yes,” said Andy. “I expected she would know all the details.”
“Everybody knows them,” said Mr. Thorpe. “They’re always the same. But you ought to have gone to some responsible lady like Mrs. Thorpe or Mrs. Will Werrit. I, myself, make nothing of being churchwarden. But Mrs. Thorpe seems to think that, in the position of churchwarden’s wife, she ought to have been asked to fix the date. Or Mrs. Tom Werrit. Or Mrs. Will.” He rose. “I was to tell you they can’t take trays this year.”
“Not take trays!” said Andy, who had already learned what that involved. “Why, they used to make themselves responsible for nearly all the provisions required. What shall we do?”