water-supply would be cut off that day from twelve noon till three in the afternoon. It was difficult to get to the house-agents’, for the street where it was situated was being extensively excavated and they had chosen the wrong side of the road, and though they saw it opposite them when half-way down the street, a long detour must be made to reach it.
‘But so characteristic, so charming,’ said Lucia. ‘Naturally there is a town-crier in Tilling, and naturally the streets are up. Do not be so impatient, Georgie. Ah, we can cross here.’
There was a further period of suspense.
‘The occupier of Mallards Cottage,’ said Mr Woolgar (or it might have been Mr Pipstow), ‘is wanting to let for three months, July, August and September. I’m not so sure that she would entertain –’
‘Then will you please ring her up,’ interrupted Georgie, ‘and say you’ve had a firm offer for two months.’
Mr Woolgar turned round a crank like that used for starting rather old-fashioned motor-cars, and when a bell rang, he gave a number, and got into communication with the brown bungalow without proper plumbing.
‘Very sorry, sir,’ he said, ‘but Miss Poppit has gone out for her sun-bath among the sand-dunes. She usually takes about three hours if fine.’
‘But we’re leaving again this morning,’ said Georgie. ‘Can’t her servant, or whoever it is, search the sand-dunes and ask her?’
‘I’ll inquire, sir,’ said Mr Woolgar sympathetically. ‘Butthere are about two miles of sand-dunes, and she may be anywhere.’
‘Please inquire,’ said Georgie.
There was an awful period, during which Mr Woolgar kept on saying ‘Quite’, ‘Just so’, ‘I see’, ‘Yes, dear’, with the most tedious monotony, in answer to unintelligible quacking noises from the other end.
‘Quite impossible, I am afraid,’ he said at length. ‘Miss Poppit only keeps one servant, and she’s got to look after the house. Besides, Miss Poppit likes … likes to be private when she’s enjoying the sun.’
‘But how tarsome,’ said Georgie. ‘What am I to do?’
‘Well, sir, there’s Miss Poppit’s mother you might get hold of. She is Mrs Wyse now. Lately married. A beautiful wedding. The house you want is her property.’
‘I know,’ broke in Lucia ‘Sables and a Rolls-Royce Mr Wyse has a monocle.’
‘Ah, if you know the lady, madam, that will be all right, and I can give you her address. Starling Cottage, Porpoise Street. I will write it down for you.’
‘Georgie, Porpoise Street!’ whispered Lucia in an entranced aside ‘
Com’ e bello e molto characteristuoso!
’
While this was being done, Diva suddenly blew in, beginning to speak before she was wholly inside the office. A short tempestuous interlude ensued.
‘– morning, Mr Woolgar,’ said Diva, ‘and I’ve let Wasters, so you can cross it off your books: such a fine morning.’
‘Indeed, madam,’ said Mr Woolgar. ‘Very satisfactory. And I hope your dear little canary is better.’
‘Still alive and in less pain, thank you, pip,’ said Diva, and plunged through the excavations outside sooner than waste time in going round.
Mr Woolgar apparently understood that ‘pip’ was not a salutation but a disease of canaries, and did not say ‘So long’ or ‘Pip pip’. Calm returned again.
‘I’ll ring up Mrs Wyse to say you will call, madam,’ he said. ‘Let me see: what name? It has escaped me for the moment.’
As he had never known it, it was difficult to see how it could have escaped.
‘Mrs Lucas and Mr Pillson,’ said Lucia. ‘Where is Porpoise Street?’
‘Two minutes’ walk from here, madam. As if you were going up to Mallards, but first turning to the right just short of it.’
‘Many thanks,’ said Lucia, ‘I know Mallards.’
‘The best house in Tilling, madam,’ said Mr Woolgar, ‘if you were wanting something larger than Mallards Cottage. It is on our books, too.’
The pride of proprietorship tempted
‘But so characteristic, so charming,’ said Lucia. ‘Naturally there is a town-crier in Tilling, and naturally the streets are up. Do not be so impatient, Georgie. Ah, we can cross here.’
There was a further period of suspense.
‘The occupier of Mallards Cottage,’ said Mr Woolgar (or it might have been Mr Pipstow), ‘is wanting to let for three months, July, August and September. I’m not so sure that she would entertain –’
‘Then will you please ring her up,’ interrupted Georgie, ‘and say you’ve had a firm offer for two months.’
Mr Woolgar turned round a crank like that used for starting rather old-fashioned motor-cars, and when a bell rang, he gave a number, and got into communication with the brown bungalow without proper plumbing.
‘Very sorry, sir,’ he said, ‘but Miss Poppit has gone out for her sun-bath among the sand-dunes. She usually takes about three hours if fine.’
‘But we’re leaving again this morning,’ said Georgie. ‘Can’t her servant, or whoever it is, search the sand-dunes and ask her?’
‘I’ll inquire, sir,’ said Mr Woolgar sympathetically. ‘Butthere are about two miles of sand-dunes, and she may be anywhere.’
‘Please inquire,’ said Georgie.
There was an awful period, during which Mr Woolgar kept on saying ‘Quite’, ‘Just so’, ‘I see’, ‘Yes, dear’, with the most tedious monotony, in answer to unintelligible quacking noises from the other end.
‘Quite impossible, I am afraid,’ he said at length. ‘Miss Poppit only keeps one servant, and she’s got to look after the house. Besides, Miss Poppit likes … likes to be private when she’s enjoying the sun.’
‘But how tarsome,’ said Georgie. ‘What am I to do?’
‘Well, sir, there’s Miss Poppit’s mother you might get hold of. She is Mrs Wyse now. Lately married. A beautiful wedding. The house you want is her property.’
‘I know,’ broke in Lucia ‘Sables and a Rolls-Royce Mr Wyse has a monocle.’
‘Ah, if you know the lady, madam, that will be all right, and I can give you her address. Starling Cottage, Porpoise Street. I will write it down for you.’
‘Georgie, Porpoise Street!’ whispered Lucia in an entranced aside ‘
Com’ e bello e molto characteristuoso!
’
While this was being done, Diva suddenly blew in, beginning to speak before she was wholly inside the office. A short tempestuous interlude ensued.
‘– morning, Mr Woolgar,’ said Diva, ‘and I’ve let Wasters, so you can cross it off your books: such a fine morning.’
‘Indeed, madam,’ said Mr Woolgar. ‘Very satisfactory. And I hope your dear little canary is better.’
‘Still alive and in less pain, thank you, pip,’ said Diva, and plunged through the excavations outside sooner than waste time in going round.
Mr Woolgar apparently understood that ‘pip’ was not a salutation but a disease of canaries, and did not say ‘So long’ or ‘Pip pip’. Calm returned again.
‘I’ll ring up Mrs Wyse to say you will call, madam,’ he said. ‘Let me see: what name? It has escaped me for the moment.’
As he had never known it, it was difficult to see how it could have escaped.
‘Mrs Lucas and Mr Pillson,’ said Lucia. ‘Where is Porpoise Street?’
‘Two minutes’ walk from here, madam. As if you were going up to Mallards, but first turning to the right just short of it.’
‘Many thanks,’ said Lucia, ‘I know Mallards.’
‘The best house in Tilling, madam,’ said Mr Woolgar, ‘if you were wanting something larger than Mallards Cottage. It is on our books, too.’
The pride of proprietorship tempted
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