CHAPTER X

THE FIRST PERSON SINGULAR PARAMOUNT

"This is easier than catching flies," was George's comment, when the cheque for the furniture arrived, together with a doc.u.ment which pretended to be a receipt, but was unable to disguise the fact that it was also an agreement; for it contained a clause, by which George undertook to quit Windward House within three calendar months, and to accept Miss Yard as his tenant for life at a yearly rental of thirty pounds.

He looked forward to a busy day without flinching. Some forms of labour were fascinating, and quashing lawyers was one of them. George did not write to Mr. Hunter returning thanks, but walked into the market town and opened an account with the post office savings bank by paying in the comfortable cheque. Returning to Highfield, he lured Nellie into the garden, and informed her he was piling up money in a reckless fashion.

"Two hundred pounds this morning," he said. "Another two hundred next week. And so it will go on."

"Where's it all coming from?" she asked.

"Money Aunt left me. They don't know what a lot she _did_ leave. It's a great secret and I wouldn't tell any one but you. I'm refusing money--that gentleman who called the other day begged me to accept a thousand pounds, but I wouldn't look at it. I can retire any day now."

"From what?" she laughed.

"From business. Making money is business, and I'm making it like the Mint."

"Did you really get two hundred pounds this morning?"

"Look at this, if you can't believe me," George replied, showing her the bank book. "It's nothing--just a flea bite--what the French call a game of bagatelle. Still it would give many an honest soul a start in life."

"You had better lend the money to your cousin," suggested Nellie.

"I'd let it perish first," cried George. "Whatever made you think of such a thing?"

"Mr. Taverner wrote to Miss Sophy this morning--she shows me all her letters now--and asked her to lend him two hundred pounds, as he had suddenly discovered another mortgage he had forgotten to pay off."

"The fellow's a ruffian!" exclaimed George, not without some admiration for Percy's methods of finance, which compared favourably with his own.

"He had learnt the profession of begging, and isn't ashamed to practise it. I think he might wait until Miss Sophy is dead."

"Percy has no moral sense," said George, with the utmost severity. "He has visited here, and I have entertained him; but he has never given me anything except superciliousness, and on one occasion a cigar which was useless except as a germicide. I have never yet heard your opinion of him."

"He's a name and nothing else," she said.

"I did have an idea he wanted to be something to you."

"What rubbish! He never even looked at me properly. When he didn't gaze at my boots he stared over my head; and he spoke to me like a gramophone."

"You didn't exactly like him?" George suggested.

"I positively dislike him."

"You never looked at him softly with your nice blue eyes?"

"My eyes are not blue."

"They seem very blue sometimes, but I'm not good at colours. I am glad you don't like Percy. It has removed a great weight from my mind. I had a dreadful suspicion, Nellie, and--and I was afraid it might interfere with my sleep; but I won't say anything more about it now. Don't you think we had better meet this evening, when it is getting dusk," George rambled on heavily, "and go a little walk, and talk about plans?"

"I have no plans," said Nellie. "I shall just go on living here until Miss Yard dies, and then I shall pack up my belongings--including the round table in the parlour--and disappear from Highfield forever."

"Not you," said George. "I have a quant.i.ty of plans, Nellie; a lot for you as well as for myself."

"Tell me all about them."

"This is not the time."

"Can't you speak while we stand here in the sunshine?"

"It would be easier if we were walking about in the dark."

"That might be bad for me," she reminded him. "When a couple talk in the dark, other couples talk about them. I will listen to some of your plans--with a decided preference for those about myself. You shall tell me four," she said, tapping the first finger of her right hand. "What is plan number one?"

"About Aunt Sophy," replied George promptly:

"Unless there's a sudden change in temperature," murmured Nellie, "I am to be frozen out again."

"You come last," said tactless George.

"Just as I expected, and perhaps a little more," she answered.

"Aunt Sophy must die," said George firmly. "That sad event should happen any time now. The first plan is to get rid of her."

"Let it be done decently," she begged.

"I don't want her to die, for, of course, one is always sorry to lose old relations. Aunt Maria's death was a great shock to me," George explained. "But for Aunt Sophy it would be a happy release, especially as I cannot be master in my own house while she lives. She ought to have gone before Aunt Maria."

"I suppose she forgot."

"Do you notice any signs of breaking down?"

"In yourself?" asked Nellie gently.

"In Aunt Sophy. I--I don't much like to be made fun of, Nellie."

"I was trying to cheer you up, as this is not Miss Sophy's funeral.

Don't worry about the dear lady; she is perfectly well and thoroughly happy; her health has been much better since we came to Highfield; and I shall be quite astonished if she doesn't live another twenty years. She is a great admirer of the giant tortoise--"

"He's over five hundred years old," cried George in anguish.

"That makes Miss Yard the smallest kind of infant."

"If she lives another two years, I must give her notice. I cannot have her upsetting all my plans--though I quite agree with you she is a dear old lady."

"Plan number two!" cried Nellie.

"That concerns myself," said George.