THE COMPLETE WORKS OF E. F. BENSON (Illustrated Edition). Эдвард Бенсон

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СКАЧАТЬ said Daisy, just like that. "But tired, Georgie? What does that mean?"

      "I don't know," said Georgie, "but that's what she said."

      "It means something else," said Daisy, "I can't tell you what, but it doesn't mean that. I suppose you've said you're engaged."

      "No I haven't," said Georgie.

      De Vere came out from the house. In this dry weather her heels made no indentations on the lawn.

      "Trunk call, ma'am," she said to Daisy.

      "These tiresome interruptions," said Daisy, hurrying indoors with great alacrity.

      Georgie lingered. He longed to know what the trunk call was, and was determined to remain with his head on the top of the paling till Daisy came back. So he made conversation.

      "Your lawn is better than mine," he said pleasantly to Robert.

      Robert was cross at this delay.

      "That's not saying much," he observed.

      "I can't say any more," said Georgie, rather nettled. "And there's the leather-jacket grub I see has begun on yours. I dare say there won't be a blade of grass left presently."

      Robert changed the conversation: there were bare patches. "The Museum insurance," he said. "I got the fire-policy this morning. The contents are the property of the four trustees, me and you and Daisy and Mrs Boucher. The building is Colonel Boucher's, and that's insured separately. If you had a spark of enterprise about you, you would take a match, set light to the mittens, and hope for the best."

      "You're very tarsome and cross," said Georgie. "I should like to take a match and set light to you."

      Georgie hated rude conversations like this, but when Robert was in such a mood, it was best to be playful. He did not mean, in any case, to cease leaning over the garden paling till Daisy came back from her trunk call.

      "Beyond the mittens," began Robert, "and, of course, those three sketches of yours, which I dare say are masterpieces —"

      Daisy bowled out of the dining-room and came with such speed down the steps that she nearly fell into the circular bed where the broccoli had been. (The mignonette there was poorish.)

      "At half-past one or two," said she, bursting with the news and at the same time unable to suppress her gift for withering sarcasm. "Lunch tomorrow. Just a picnic, you know, as soon as she happens to arrive. So kind of her. More notice than she took of me last time."

      "Lucia?" asked Georgie.

      "Yes. Let me see, I was putting, wasn't I?"

      "If you call it putting," said Robert. He was not often two up and he made the most of it.

      "So I suppose you said you were engaged," said Georgie.

      Daisy did not trouble to reply at all. She merely went on putting. That was the way to deal with inquisitive questions.

      This news, therefore, was very soon all over Riseholme, and next morning it was supplemented by the amazing announcement in The Times, Morning Post, Daily Telegraph and Daily Mail that Mrs Philip Lucas had left London for two or three days' complete rest. It sounded incredible to Riseholme, but of course it might be true and, as Daisy had said, that the duchesses had been too much for her. (This was nearer the mark than the sarcastic Daisy had known, for it was absolutely and literally true that one Duchess had been too much for her . . .) In any case, Lucia was coming back to them again, and though Riseholme was still a little dignified and reticent, Georgie's acceptance of his dinner-invitation, and Daisy's of her lunch-invitation, were symptomatic of Riseholme's feelings. Lucia had foully deserted them, she had been down here only once since that fatal accession to fortune, and on that occasion had evidently intended to see nothing of her old friends while that Yahoo party ("Yahoo" was the only word for Mrs Alingsby) was with her; she had laughed at their Museum, she had courted the vulgar publicity of the press to record her movements in London, but Riseholme was really perfectly willing to forget and forgive if she behaved properly now. For, though no one would have confessed it, they missed her more and more. In spite of all her bullying monarchical ways, she had initiative, and though the excitement of the Museum and the sagas from Abfou had kept them going for a while, it was really in relation to Lucia that these enterprises had been interesting. Since then, too, Abfou had been full of vain repetitions, and no one could go on being excited by his denunciation of Lucia as a snob, indefinitely. Lucia had personality, and if she had been here and had taken to golf Riseholme would have been thrilled at her skill, and have exulted over her want of it, whereas Daisy's wonderful scores at clock-golf (she was off her game today) produced no real interest. Degrading, too, as were the records of Lucia's movements in the columns of Hermione, Riseholme had been thrilled (though disgusted) by them, because they were about Lucia, and though she was coming down now for complete rest (whatever that might mean), the mere fact of her being here would make things hum. This time too she had behaved properly (perhaps she had learned wisdom) and had announced her coming, and asked old friends in.

      Forgiveness, therefore, and excitement were the prevalent emotions in the morning parliament on the green next day. Mrs Boucher alone expressed grave doubts on the situation.

      "I don't believe she's ill," she said. "If she's ill, I shall be very sorry, but I don't believe it. If she is, Mr Georgie, I'm all for accepting her gift of the spit to the Museum, for it would be unkind not to. You can write and say that the committee have reconsidered it and would be very glad to have it. But let's wait to see if she's ill first. In fact, wait to see if she's coming at all, first."

      Piggy came whizzing up with news, while Goosie shouted it into her mother's ear-trumpet. Before Piggy could come out with it, Goosie's announcement was audible everywhere.

      "A cab from the station has arrived at The Hurst, Mamma," she yelled, "with the cook and the housemaid, and a quantity of luggage."

      "Oh, Mrs Boucher, have you heard the news?" panted Piggie.

      "Yes, my dear, I've just heard it," said Mrs Boucher, "and it looks as if they were coming. That's all I can say. And if the cook's come by half-past eleven, I don't see why you shouldn't get a proper lunch, Daisy. No need for a cup of strong soup or a sandwich which I should have recommended if there had been no further news since you were asked to a picnic lunch. But if the cook's here now . . ."

      Daisy was too excited to go home and have any serious putting and went off to the Museum. Mr Rushbold, the Vicar, had just presented his unique collection of walking-sticks to it, and though the Committee felt it would be unkind not to accept them, it was difficult to know how to deal with them. They could not all be stacked together in one immense stick-stand, for then they could not be appreciated. The handles of many were curiously carved, some with gargoyle-heads of monsters putting out their tongues and leering, some with images of birds and fish, and there was one rather indelicate one, of a young man and a girl passionately embracing . . . On the other hand, if they were spaced and leaned against the wall, some slight disturbance upset the equilibrium of one and it fell against the next, and the whole lot went down like ninepins. In fact, the boy at the turnstile said his entire time was occupied with picking them up. Daisy had a scheme of stretching an old lawn-tennis net against the wall, and tastefully entangling them in its meshes . . .

      Riseholme lingered on the green that morning long after one o'clock, which was its usual lunchtime, and at precisely twenty-five minutes past they were rewarded. Out of the motor stepped Peppino in a very thick coat and a large muffler. He sneezed twice as he held out his arm to assist Lucia to alight. СКАЧАТЬ