Later, when they were alone, she said: “People talk a great deal of nonsense about being rich. Of course it is a bore in some ways, and it means endless work, but I wouldn’t be poor, or even moderately well-off, for all the ease in the world. Would you be happy if you were rich, do you think?”
“Well, it depends how I got the money,” said Paul.
“I don’t see how that comes in.”
“No, I don’t quite mean that. What I mean is that I think there’s only one thing that could make me really happy, and if I got that I should be rich too, but it wouldn’t matter being rich, you see, because, however rich I was, and I hadn’t got what would make me happy, I shouldn’t be happy, you see.”
“My precious, that’s rather obscure,” said Margot, “but I think it may mean something rather sweet.” He looked up at her, and her eyes met his unfalteringly. “If it does, I’m glad,” she added.
“Margot, darling, beloved, please, will you marry me?” Paul was on his knees by her chair, his hands on hers.
“Well, that’s rather what I’ve been wanting to discuss with you all day.” But surely there was a tremor in her voice?
“Does that mean that possibly you might, Margot? Is there a chance that you will?”
“I don’t see why not. Of course we must ask Peter about it, and there are other things we ought to discuss first,” and then, quite suddenly, “Paul, dear, dear creature, come here.”
They found Peter in the dining-room eating a peach at the sideboard.
“Hallo, you two!” he said.
“Peter, we’ve something to tell you,” said Margot. “Paul says he wants me to marry him.”
“Splendid!” said Peter. “I am glad. Is that what you’ve been doing in the library?”
“Then you don’t mind?” said Paul.
“Mind? It’s what I’ve been trying to arrange all this week. As a matter of fact, that’s why I brought you here at all. I think it’s altogether admirable,” he said, taking another peach.
“You’re the first man he’s said that about, Paul. I think it’s rather a good omen.”
“Oh, Margot, let’s get married at once.”
“My dear, I haven’t said that I’m going to yet. I’ll tell you in the morning.”
“No, tell me now, Margot. You do like me a little, don’t you? Please marry me just terribly soon.”
“I’ll tell you in the morning. There’re several things I must think about first. Let’s go back to the library.”
That night Paul found it unusually difficult to sleep. Long after he had shut his book and turned out the light he lay awake, his eyes open, his thoughts racing uncontrollably. As in the first night of his visit, he felt the sleepless, involved genius of the house heavy about his head. He and Margot and Peter and Sir Humphrey Maltravers were just insignificant incidents in the life of the house: this newborn monster to whose birth ageless and forgotten cultures had been in travail. For half an hour he lay looking into the darkness until gradually his thoughts began to separate themselves from himself, and he knew he was falling asleep. Suddenly he was roused to consciousness by the sound of his door opening gently. He could see nothing, but he heard the rustle of silk as someone came into the room. Then the door shut again.
“Paul, are you asleep?”
“Margot!”
“Hush, dear! Don’t turn on the light. Where are you?” The silk rustled again as though falling to the ground. “It’s best to make sure, isn’t it, darling, before we decide anything? It may be just an idea of yours that you’re in love with me. And, you see, Paul, I like you so very much, it would be a pity to make a mistake, wouldn’t it?”
But happily there was no mistake, and next day Paul and Margot announced their engagement.
IV
Resurrection
Crossing the hall one afternoon a few days later, Paul met a short man with a long red beard stumping along behind the footman towards Margot’s study.
“Good Lord!” he said.
“Not a word, old boy!” said the bearded man as he passed on.
A few minutes later Paul was joined by Peter. “I say, Paul,” he said, “who do you think’s talking to Mamma?”
“I know,” said Paul. “It’s a very curious thing.”
“I somehow never felt he was dead,” said Peter. “I told Clutterbuck that to try and cheer him up.”
“Did it?”
“Not very much,” Peter admitted. “My argument was that if he’d really gone out to sea he would have left his wooden leg behind with his clothes, but Clutterbuck said he was very sensitive about his leg. I wonder what he’s come to see Mamma about?”
A little later they ambushed him in the drive, and Grimes told them. “Forgive the beaver,” he said, “but it’s rather important at the moment.”
“In the soup again?” asked Paul.
“Well, not exactly, but things have been rather low lately. The police are after me. That suicide didn’t go down well. I was afraid it wouldn’t. They began to fuss a bit about no body being found and about my game leg. And then my other wife turned up, and that set them thinking. Hence the vegetation. Clever of you two to spot me.”
They led him back to the house, and Peter mixed him a formidable cocktail, the principal ingredients of which were absinthe and vodka.
“It’s the old story,” said Grimes. “Grimes has fallen on
