“Yes.”
“Funny of her … What's this one's name again?”
“Tony Last.
It's a pretty ghastly house, isn't it?”
“Is it?
I never notice houses much.”
She was an easy guest to entertain. After dinner on Monday she produced four packs of cards and laid out for herself on the smoking room table a very elaborate patience, which kept her engrossed all the evening.
“Don't wait up for me,” she said.
“I shall stay here until it comes out.
It often takes several hours.”
They showed her where to put the lights out and left her to it.
Next day Jock said,
“Have you got any pigs at the farm?”
“Yes.”
“Would you mind if I went to see them?”
“Not the least — but why?”
“And is there a man who looks after them, who will be able to explain about them?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I think I'll spend the morning with him.
I've got to make a speech about pigs, fairly soon.”
They did not see Mrs. Rattery until luncheon.
Tony assumed she was asleep until she appeared in overalls from the morning room.
“I was down early,” she explained, “and found the men at work stripping the ceiling.
I couldn't resist joining in.
I hope you don't mind.”
In the afternoon they went to a neighbouring livery stables to look for hirelings.
After tea Tony wrote to Brenda; he had taken to writing letters in the past few weeks.
How enjoyable the week-end was, he wrote.
Thank you a thousand times for all your sweetness.
I wish you were coming down next week-end, or that you had been able to stay on a little, but I quite understand.
The Shameless Blonde is not the least what we expected — very serene and distant.
Not at all like Jock's usual taste.
I am sure she hasn't any idea where she is or what my name is.
The work in the morning room is going on well.
The foreman told me today he thought he would begin on the chromium plating by the end of the week.
You know what I think about that.
John can talk of nothing except his hunting tomorrow.
I hope he doesn't break his neck.
Jock and his S.B. are going out too.
Hetton lay near the boundary of three packs; the Pigstanton, who hunted it, had in the division of territory come off with the worst country and they cherished a permanent resentment about some woods near Bayton.
They were a somewhat ill-tempered lot, contemptuous of each other's performance, hostile to strangers, torn by internal rancour; united only in their dislike of the Master.
In the case of Colonel Inch this unpopularity, traditional to the hunt, was quite undeserved; he was a timid, inconspicuous man who provided the neighbourhood with sport of a kind at great personal expense.
He himself was seldom in sight of hounds and could often be found in another part of the country morosely nibbling ginger nut biscuits in a lane or towards the end of the day cantering heavily across country, quite lost, a lonely scarlet figure against the ploughed land, staring about him in the deepening twilight and shouting at yokels for information.
The only pleasure he gained from his position, but that a substantial one, was in referring to it casually at Board Meetings of the various companies he directed. .
The Pigstanton met twice a week.
There was seldom a large field on Wednesdays, but the Hetton meet was popular; it lay in their best country and the prospect of stirrup cups had drawn many leathery old ladies from the neighbouring packs.
There were also followers on foot and in every kind of vehicle, some hanging back diffidently, others, more or less known to Tony, crowding round the refreshment table.
Mr. Tendril had a niece staying with him, who appeared on a motor bicycle.
John stood beside Thunderclap, solemn with excitement.
Ben had secured a powerful, square-headed mare from a neighbouring farmer; he hoped to have a hunt after John had been taken home; at John's earnest entreaty nanny was confined indoors, among the housemaids whose heads obtruded at the upper windows; it was not her day.