“I ain’t cold. Pull my hair if you like, mister.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Basil.
“Dessay I shall. I dream a lot of funny things. Go on, mister, pull it. Hard. I don’t mind.” She offered her bobbed head to Basil and then with a giggle ran out of the room.
“You see,” said Barbara. “A problem child.”
When Marlene had been treated for her queerness, Barbara came back to say good night.
“I’ll stay up a bit and work on this book.”
“All right, darling. Good night,” She bent over the back of the sofa and kissed the top of his head.
“Not blubbing any more?”
“No, not blubbing.”
He looked up at her and smiled. She smiled back; it was the same smile. They saw themselves, each in the other’s eyes. There’s no one like Basil, thought Barbara, seeing herself ? no one like him, when he’s nice.
Next morning Basil was called by Benson, who was the only manservant indoors since Freddy had drawn in his horns. (He had taken his valet with him to the yeomanry and supported him now, in a very much lower standard of comfort, at the King’s expense.) Lying in bed and watching the man put out his clothes, Basil reflected that he still owed him a small sum of money from his last visit.
“Benson, what’s this about your leaving?”
“I was cross last night, Mr. Basil. I couldn’t ever leave Malfrey, and Mrs. Sothill ought to know that. Not with the Captain away, too.”
“Mrs. Sothill was very upset.”
“So was I, Mr. Basil. You don’t know what those Connollies are. They’re not human.”
“We’ll find a billet for them.”
“No one will take the Connollies in these parts. Not if they were given a hundred pounds.”
“I have an idea I owe you some money.”
“You do, Mr. Basil. Twelve pound ten.”
“As much as that? Time I paid it back.”
“It is.”
“I will, Benson.”
“I hope so, sir, I’m sure.”
Basil went to his bath pondering. No one will take the Connollies in these parts. Not for a hundred pounds. Not for a hundred pounds.
Since the war began Barbara had taken to breakfasting downstairs in the mistaken belief that it caused less trouble. Instead of the wicker bed-table tray, a table had to be laid in the small dining-room, the fire had to be lit there two hours earlier, silver dishes had to be cleaned and the wicks trimmed under them. It was an innovation deplored by all.
Basil found her crouched over the fire with her cup of coffee; she turned her curly black head and smiled; both of them had the same devastating combination of dark hair and clear blue eyes. Narcissus greeted Narcissus from the watery depths as Basil kissed her.
“Spoony,” she said.
“I’ve squared Benson for you.”
“Darling, how clever of you.”
“I had to give the old boy a fiver.”
“Liar.”
“All right, don’t believe me then.”
“I don’t, knowing Benson and knowing you. I remember last time you stayed here I had to pay him over ten pounds that you’d borrowed.”
“You paid him?”
“Yes. I was afraid he’d ask Freddy.”
“The old double-crosser. Anyway he’s staying.”
“Yes; thinking it over I knew he would. I don’t know why I took it so hard last night. I think it was the shock of seeing the Connollies.”
“We must get them settled to-day.”
“It’s hopeless. No one will take them.”
“You’ve got powers of coercion.”
“Yes, but I can’t possibly use them.”
“I can,” said Basil. “I shall enjoy it.”
After breakfast they moved from the little dining- room to the little parlour. The corridor, though it was one of the by-ways of the house, had a sumptuous cornice and a high, coved ceiling; the door cases were enriched with classic pediments in whose broken entablatures stood busts of philosophers and composers. Other busts stood at regular intervals on marble pedestals. Everything in Malfrey was splendid and harmonious; everything except Doris, who, that morning, lurked in their path rubbing herself on a pilaster like a cow on a stump.
