Free Lucia Victrix by E. F. Benson

in one corner with a malachite vase above it: there was an occasional table with a marble mosaic top: there was a satinwood piano draped with a piece of embroidery: a palm-tree: a green velvet sofa over the end of which lay a sable coat, and all these things spoke of post-Elizabethan refinements.
    Long before Lucia had time to admire them all, there came a jingling from a door over which hung a curtain of reeds and beads, and Mrs Wyse entered.
    ‘So sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs Lucas,’ she said, ‘but they thought I was in the garden, and I was in my boudoir all the time. And you must excuse my deshabille, just my shopping-frock. And Mr Pillson, isn’t it? So pleased. Pray be seated.’
    She heaved the sable coat off the end of the sofa on to the window-seat.
    ‘We’ve just been to see the house-agent,’ said Georgie in a great hurry, as he turned his muddied leg away from the light, ‘and he told us that you might help me.’
    ‘Most happy I am sure, if I can. Pray tell me,’ said Mrs Wyse, in apparent unconsciousness of what she could possibly help him about.
    ‘Mallards Cottage,’ said Georgie. ‘There seems to be no chance of getting hold of Miss Poppit and we’ve got to leave before she comes back from her sun-bath. I so much want to take it for August and September.’
    Mrs Wyse made a little cooing sound.
    ‘Dear Isabel!’ she said. ‘My daughter. Out in the sand-dunes all morning! What if a tramp came along? I say to her. But no use: she calls it the Browning Society, and she must not miss a meeting. So quick and clever! Browning, not the poet but the action of the sun.’
    ‘Most amusing!’ said Georgie. ‘With regard to Mallards Cottage –’
    ‘The little house is mine, as no doubt Mr Woolgar told you,’said Mrs Wyse, forgetting she had been in complete ignorance of these manoeuvres, ‘but you must certainly come and see over it, before anything is settled … Ah, here is Mr Wyse. Algernon: Mrs Lucas and Mr Pillson. Mr Pillson wants to take Mallards Cottage.’
    Lucia thought she had never seen anyone so perfectly correct and polite as Mr Wyse. He gave little bows and smiles to each as he spoke to them, and that in no condescending manner, nor yet cringingly, but as one consorting with his high-bred equals.
    ‘From your beautiful Riseholme, I understand,’ he said to Lucia (bowing to Riseholme as well). ‘And we are all encouraging ourselves to hope that for two months at the least the charm of our picturesque – do you not find it so? – little Tilling will give Susan and myself the inestimable pleasure of being your neighbours. We shall look forward to August with keen anticipation. Remind me, dear Susan, to tell Amelia what is in store for us.’ He bowed to August, Susan and Amelia and continued – ‘And now I hear that Mr Pillson’ (he bowed to Georgie and observed the drying spot of mud) ‘is “after” as they say, after Mallards Cottage. This will indeed be a summer for Tilling.’
    Georgie, during this pretty speech which Mr Wyse delivered in the most finished manner, was taking notes of his costume and appearance. His clean-shaven face, with abundant grey hair brushed back from his forehead, was that of an actor who has seen his best days, but who has given command performances at Windsor. He wore a brown velveteen coat, a Byronic collar and a tie strictured with a cameo-ring: he wore brown knickerbockers and stockings to match, he wore neat golfing shoes. He looked as if he might be going to play golf, but somehow it didn’t seem likely …
    Georgie and Lucia made polite deprecating murmurs.
    ‘I was telling Mr Pillson’ he must certainly see over it first,’ said Mrs Wyse. ‘There are the keys of the cottage in my boudoir, if you’ll kindly fetch them, Algernon. And the Royce is at the door, I see, so if Mrs Lucas will allow us, we will all drive up there together, and show her and Mr Pillson what there is.’
    While Algernon was gone, Mrs Wyse picked up the