‘I ask to be allowed to associate myself with those sentiments,’ said Major Benjy, whose contempt for Georgie and his sketches and his needlework had been intensified by the sight of his yachting cap, which he had pronounced to be only fit for a popinjay. It had been best to keep on good terms with him while Lucia was at Mallards, for he might poison her mind about himself, and now that he was going, there was no harm in these handsome remarks. Then the Padre said something Scotch and sympathetic and regretful, and Georgie found himself, slightly to his embarrassment, making bows and saying ‘thank you’ right and left in acknowledgment of these universal expressions of regret that he was so soon about to leave them. It was rather awkward, for within a few hours they would all know that he had taken Mallards Cottage unfurnished for five years, which did not look like an immediate departure. But this little deception was necessary if he was to bring off his joke against Lucia, and make her think that he meant to settle in London. And after all, since everybody seemed so sorry that (as they imagined) he was soon to leave Tilling, they ought to be very much pleased to find that he was doing nothing of the kind.

The guests dispersed soon after lunch and Georgie, full of mischief and naughtiness, lingered with his hostess in the garden-room. All her gimlet glances during lunch had failed to fathom his high good humour: here was he on the eve of parting with his Foljambe and herself, and yet his face beamed with content. Lucia was in very good spirits also, for she had seen Elizabeth’s brow grow more and more furrowed as she strove to find a formula for the lobster.

‘What a lovely luncheon party, although I got no lobster at all,’ said Georgie, as he settled himself for his teasing. ‘I did enjoy it. And Elizabeth’s rapture at your stopping here! She must have an awful blister on her tongue.’

Lucia sighed.

‘Sapphira must look to her laurels, poor thing,’ she observed pensively. ‘And how sorry they all were that you are going away.’

‘Wasn’t it nice of them?’ said Georgie. ‘But never mind that now: I’ve got something wonderful to tell you. I’ve never felt happier in my life, for the thing I’ve wanted for so many years can be managed at last. You will be pleased for my sake.’

Lucia laid a sympathetic hand on his. She felt that she had shown too little sympathy with one who was to lose his parlourmaid and his oldest friend so soon. But the gaiety with which he bore his double stroke was puzzling…

‘Dear Georgie,’ she said, ‘anything that makes you happy makes me happy. I am rejoiced that something of the sort has occurred. Really rejoiced. Tell me what it is instantly.’