Titus folded the ‘copy’ and slid it into his case.
Then he struck a match and burned the ‘original’ up.
His darling flung her arms round his neck.
A week later a letter bearing the post-mark of Rapallo was delivered at Malison Hall.
Its contents consisted of a document and three hundred and fifteen pounds in Bank of England notes.
The document appeared to be a bill which the notes were paying.
_December 6th._ _ One brandy and soda_ 105 0 0 _One telephone call_ 105 0 0 _One tea_ 105 0 0 ——————— 315 0 0 =======
“I sometimes think,” said Mrs. Carey Below, “that you are losing your mind.”
Peregrine Carey Below put a hand to his head.
“I’m not so sure I’m not,” he said wearily.
Peregrine raised his eyes to meet the glint of steel in those of his wife. For a moment he seemed upon the edge of protest: then the cold, level gaze bore down his spirit. Peregrine felt as though he were seated in cold water. He shifted uneasily.
“No, no,” he said. “Of course it isn’t. I—I only——”
“Because if it is,” said Mrs. Below silkily, “if it is, we shall have to have an understanding.” She bridled menacingly. “I was not bred to rudeness. Selfishness I can put up with—fortunately for me: I can suffer a fool—I’ve done it day and night for seven years: but rudeness is an assault, and that I will not endure.”
“D’you mind holding your tongue?” The words bit at the air, and Peregrine winced. “As I say, I was not bred to rudeness. My father was old-fashioned enough to treat my mother with courtesy, if not respect. I’m not such a fool as to expect those emotions from you because my father was a gentleman, but if you could manage to suppress your coarser instincts at least in my presence, I should be grateful. Personally, I see nothing heinous in my wish to attend a dance. Life’s flat enough, Heaven knows. Besides, it’s been done before. That is what dances are for—Peregrine. I confess I did not expect my suggestion to be cordially received. That would have been unreasonably optimistic. It hasn’t taken me seven years to discover that social intercourse doesn’t appeal to you. But it never occurred to me that my mere expression of a very natural desire would be the signal for an outburst of abuse. But there again—I never expect contumely. I’ve had it and stood it for seven years, and I suppose most women would have become case-hardened. But I’m different. I cannot realize that the old order is changed, that you cannot spell the word ‘chivalry,’ that to you women are chattels whose only office is to reflect the glorious will of man. What if our passages are booked? I suppose they can be cancelled.”