‘It’s a very real power, Harriet.’

‘Then,’ she flung back passionately, ‘we won’t use it. If we disagree, we’ll fight it out like gentlemen. We won’t stand for matrimonial blackmail.’

He was silent for a moment, leaning back against the chimney-breast. Then he said, with a lightness that betrayed him:

‘Harriet; you have no sense of dramatic values. Do you mean to say we are to play out our domestic comedy without the great bedroom scene?’

‘Certainly. We’ll have nothing so vulgar.’

Well-thank God for that!’

His strained face broke suddenly into the familiar mischievous smile. But she had been too much frightened to be able to smile back-yet.

‘Bunter isn’t the only person with standards. You must do what you think right. Promise me that. What I think doesn’t matter. I swear it shall never make any difference.’

He took her hand and kissed it gravely. Thank you, Harriet. That is love with honour.’

They stood so for a moment; both conscious that something had been achieved that was of enormous-of overmastering importance. Then Harriet said, practically: ‘In any case, you were right, and I was wrong. The thing has got to be done. By any means, so long as we get to the bottom of it. That’s your job, and it’s worth doing.’

‘Always provided I can do it. I don’t feel very brilliant at the moment.’

‘You’ll get there in the end. It’s all right, Peter.’

He laughed-and Bunter came in with the soup. ‘I regret that dinner is a little late, my lady.’

Harriet looked at the clock. It seemed to her that she had lived through interminable ages of emotion. But the hands stood at a quarter past eight. Only an hour and a half had gone by since they had entered the house.

Chapter XVIII. Straws In The Hair

‘The really essential thing,’ said Peter, executing sketch on the table-cloth with the handle of his soupspoon, ‘is to put in a workable hot-water system and build out a bathroom over the scullery. We can make the furnace house here, so as to get a straight fall from the cistern there. And that will give us a direct outfall for the bath to the sewer-if I may dignify it by that name. I think there’d be room to make another little bedroom near the bathroom; and when we want more space, we can convert the attics. The electric plant can live in the stable.’

Harriet agreed and offered her own contribution: ‘Bunter speaks none too kindly of the kitchen range. He says he would designate it as a period piece, my lady, but, if I will permit him to say so, of an inferior period. I think it’s mid-Victorian.’

‘We will take it a few periods back and have it Tudor. I propose to install an open fire and a roasting-spit and live in the baronial manner.’

‘With a scullion to turn the spit? Or one of those bandy-legged period dogs?’

‘Well-no; I was going to compromise about that, and have the spit turned by electricity. And an electric cooker for the days when we didn’t feel so period. I like the best of both worlds-I’m quite ready to be picturesque but I draw the line at inconvenience and hard work. I’m sure it would be hard work training a modem dog to turn a spit.’

‘Talking of dogs-are we keeping that terrific bull-mastiff?’

‘We’ve only hired him till after the funeral. Unless you feel a fancy for him. He is almost embarrassingly affectionate and demonstrative; but he’d do to play with the children. The goat, on the other hand, I have sent home. It got loose while we were out and ate a row of cabbages and Mrs Ruddle’s apron.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want to keep it to provide milk for the nursery tea?’

‘Quite sure. It’s a billy-goat.’

‘Oh! well, that’s very smelly and useless. I’m glad he’s gone. Are we going to keep things?’

‘What should you like to keep? Peacocks?’

‘Peacocks need a terrace. I was thinking of pigs. They’re comfortable; and when you feel dreamy and indolent you can go and scratch their backs like Mr Baldwin. And ducks make a pleasant noise. But I don’t care much for hens.’

‘Hens have peevish faces. By the way, I’m not sure you weren’t right before dinner. On principle, it’s the proper thing to give Kirk information, but I wish one knew how he was going to use it. If once he gets a fixed idea-’

‘There’s someone at the door. If that’s Kirk, we’ll have to make up our minds.’ Bunter entered, bringing with him the fragrance-but only the fragrance-of sage and onion.

‘My lord, there is an individual-’

‘Oh, send him away. I can’t stand any more individuals.’

‘My lord-’

‘We’re at dinner. Send him away. Tell him to call again later.’

There was the noise of swift steps on the gravel outside; and at the same moment a stout, elderly Hebrew burst into the room.

‘Very thorry to intrude,’ said this gentleman, in a breathless and hasty manner. ‘No wish to cause inconvenience. I,’ he added helpfully, ‘am Moss & Isaacs-’

‘You were wrong, Bunter. It’s not an individual-it’s a company.’

‘-and here in my hand I have’

‘Bunter; take the company’s hat.’

‘Very thorry,’ said the company, whose failure to uncover seemed due rather to oblivion than to want of natural courtesy. ‘No intention to offend. But I have here a bill of thale on the furniture in this house, and I have run-’

A thunderous knocking on the door caused him to fling up despairing hands. Bunter hurried out.

‘A bill of sale?’ cried Harriet. The intruder turned eagerly to her:

‘For a debt of theventy-three, thickteeh, thickth,’ he said, emotion choking his speech-’and I have run all the way from the buth-thtop-all the way-and there ith a man-’

He was right; there was a man. He pushed his way past Bunter, crying out in reproachful tones: ‘Mr Solomons, Mr Solomons! that’s not fair. Everything in this house is the property of my clients, and the executrix has agreed-’

‘Good evening, Mr MacBride,’ said the master of the house, politely.

‘I can’t help that,’ said Mr Solomons, his voice drowning Mr MacBride’s reply. He mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. ‘We hold a bill of sale on the furniture-look at the date on this document.’

Mr MacBride said firmly:

‘Ours has been running five years.’

‘I don’t care,’ retorted Mr Solomons, ‘if it’s been running as long as Charley’s Aunt!’

‘Gentlemen, gentlemen!’ said Peter, in conciliatory accents, ‘cannot this matter be amicably arranged?’

‘Our van,’ said Mr Solomons, ‘will call for the goods tomorrow.’

‘Our clients’ van,’ replied Mr MacBride, ‘is on the way NOW.’

Mr Solomons uttered a loud expostulatory howl, and Peter tried again:

‘I implore you, gentlemen, have some consideration for my wife, if not for me. We are in the middle of dinner, and you propose to remove the table and chairs. We have to sleep-will you not leave us so much as a bed to lie on? We also, if it comes to that, have some claim upon the furniture, since we hired it. Pray do not be so precipitate… Mr MacBride, you have known us long and (I hope) loved us well-you will, I am sure, have compassion on our nerves and feelings, and not turn us out dinnerless to sleep under the nearest haystack.’

‘My lord,’ said Mr MacBride, somewhat moved by this appeal, but conscious of his duty, ‘in the interests of our clients-’

‘In the interests of our firm,’ said Mr Solomons.

‘In all our interests,’ said Peter, ‘will you not sit down and share our roast duck with apple sauce and sage and onion stuffing? You, Mr Solomons, have run fast and far-your strength needs sustaining. You, Mr MacBride, spoke feelingly yesterday morning about our English family life will you not for once consent to see it at its best? Do not break up the happy home! Over a slice of the breast and a glass of the best any little differences may be adjusted.’