Page:The Climber (Benson).djvu/268

258 "It is perfectly charming conduct, anyhow," said he. "And I bring you good news."

"Oh, what? No, I can't guess. Tell me quickly."

"The House is going to rise, after all, next week. I shall, indeed, have to go up only on Tuesday. Then I am free."

It was perhaps a good thing that Lucia did not try to guess; she would never have thought of that as being good news. But she simulated a suitable enchantment.

"And we must make our plans for the autumn," he said. "The reports from the moors are dreadfully bad; there will be next to no shooting. What shall we do? Shall we stop quietly here? Or shall we go on the yacht? We have never yet been north in it. You would like to see the Norwegian fiords, would you not?"

"Ah, you are too good to me," said she. "You are always thinking of what I should like. Let us anyhow stay on here a little. It has been the greatest success. Nobody wants to go, and Charlie has announced that he isn't going unless turned out. Then in November I should really rather like a few weeks in London. I'm sure I could make quite a gay little informal season. You see, I missed a good deal of the summer."

"And the Infanto?" said Edgar. "Surely the country is better for a baby."

"Oh yes, we would leave the Infanto here," said Lucia.

This somehow rather took away the pleasure Edgar had felt when he found that Lucia had come in simply to meet his train. He had often felt that their child was not to Lucia even that which it was to him; the fact of being a father was greater to him than was the far more tremendous affair of motherhood to her. But Lucia, who had spoken thoughtlessly and genuinely, saw her mistake before his silence had become long.

"You see, the Infanto would not have to come on the yacht with us, if we adopted your plan," she said, with excellent common sense; "and, indeed"—this was a bright idea—"I should not like to be cut off from news of him, as we should be if we made a cruise. Oh, he is getting too adorable. He hates ugly things already; he is your true child, dear. He can't bear nurse, and he adores the nursery-maid, who is charmingly pretty. Oh, the Infanto is beginning early; there are many signs that he will flutter the dovecotes. I do hope he will; I should like my son to break every eligible heart in London."