MR and Mrs Anstruther were at breakfast in the parlour of Westfield Hall, in the county of Essex.* They were arranging plans for the day.
'George,' said Mrs Anstruther, T think you had better take the car to Maldon and see if you can get any of those knitted things I was speaking about which would do for my stall at the bazaar.
'Oh well, if you wish it, Mary, of course I can do that, but I had half arranged to play a round with Geoffrey Williamson this morning. The bazaar isn't till Thursday of next week, isit?'
'What has that to do with it, George? I should have thought you would have guessed that if I can't get the things I want in Maldon I shall have to write to all manner of shops in town: and they are certain to send something quite unsuit able in price or quality the first time. If you have actually made an appointment with Mr Williamson, you had better keep it, but I must say I think you might have let me know.'
'Oh no, no, it wasn't really an appointment. I quite see what you mean. I'll go. And what shall you do yourself?'
'Why, when the work of the house is arranged for, I must see about laying out my new rose garden. By the way, before you start for Maldon I wish you would just take Collins to look at the place I fixed upon. You know it, of course.'
'Well, I'm not quite sure that I do, Mary. Is it at the upper end, towards the village?'
'Good gracious no, my dear George; I thought I had made that quite clear. No, it's that small clearing just off the shrubbery path that goes towards the church.'
'Oh yes, where we were saying there must have been a summer—house once: the place with the old seat and the posts. But do you think there's enough sun there?'
My dear George, do allow me some common sense, and don't credit me with all your ideas about summer—houses.