‘Georgie,’ she cried. ‘She tried me with the same word. I’ve forgotten it again, but it did mean paper-knife. I didn’t know it either, though I pretended it was her pronunciation that puzzled me. There’s no end to her craftiness. But I’ll get the better of her yet. I think you’ll have to go away, while the Faraglione is here and I have influenza.’

‘But I don’t want to go away,’ began Georgie. ‘Surely we can think of –’

Lucia paid no heed to this attempt at protest: it is doubtful if she even heard it, for the spark was lit now, and it went roaring through her fertile brain like a prairie fire in a high gale.

‘You must go away tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Far better than influenza, and you must stop away till I send you a telegram, that the Faraglione has left. It will be very dull for me because I shall be entirely confined to the house and garden all the time you are gone. I think the garden will be safe. I cannot remember that it is overlooked from any other house and I shall do a lot of reading, though even the piano won’t be possible… Georgie, I see it all. You have not been looking very well lately (my dear, you’re the picture of health really, I have never seen you looking younger or better) and so you will have gone off to have a week at Folkestone or Littlestone, whichever you prefer. Sea air; you needn’t bathe. And you can take my car, for I shan’t be able to use it, and why not take Foljambe as well to valet you, as you often do when you go for a jaunt? She’ll have her Cadman: we may as well make other people happy, Georgie, as it all seems to fit in so beautifully. And one thing more: this little jaunt of yours is entirely undertaken for my sake, and I must insist on paying it all. Go to a nice hotel and make yourself thoroughly comfortable; half a bottle of champagne whenever you want it in the evening, and what extras you like, and I will telephone to you to say when you can come back. You must start tomorrow morning before the Faraglione gets here.’