"What you want is a good stiff blow," said Jim. "How would you like one in the Seamew? I rather thought of having her out tomorrow."
"I should probably be scared white," replied Miss Allison candidly. "However, I quite see that if I mean to go through with this marriage I shall have to get used to racing cars and speedboats. I'll go with you if Mrs. Kane doesn't want me."
Shortly after three o'clock Paul Mansell arrived at Cliff House, bringing with him his sister and her two children. Betty Pemble had been inspired to array her offspring in their best clothes, undeterred by any consideration of the unsuitability of jade-green silk for garden wear. Peter, who was a strong-minded-looking child of three, wore in addition to his jade knickers a frilled shirt of primrose yellow. Judging from his expression, which was forbidding, he did not regard his gala raiment with favour. Jennifer, on the other hand, who was three years his senior, was looking pleased and rather smug. She had beguiled the tedium of the drive out from Portlaw with a flow of innocent prattle which made her uncle wonder savagely why no one had had the sense to stifle her at birth. Upon arrival at Cliff House she skipped out of the car and offered to embrace her hostess. "How do you do, Mrs. Kane? Look, Mrs. Kane, I've got my party frock on! Do you know, Peter was awfully naughty, Mrs. Kane, and he screamed because he didn't want to have his clothes changed? I wasn't naughty. I'm three years older than Peter, Mrs. Kane. He's only a silly baby."
"Hush, darling!" said her mother fondly. "Give Auntie Rosemary a nice kiss, Peter dear."
"No," said Peter, with a lowering look at Rosemary. "Don't want to."
Betty bent over him and said in a coaxing voice: "Darling, you know you promised Mummy you'd be a good boy. You love Auntie Rosemary, don't you?"
Master Pemble, exasperated, thrust her off with one fat clenched fist. "I don't want to!" he repeated loudly.
"Oh, please don't worry about it!" begged Rosemary. "I can never see why children should be expected to kiss everyone. Really, I don't in the least want him to!"
"No, Peter must do what he's told," said Betty firmly. "I always insist on them obeying me, you know: it's the only way. Now, darling, listen! You wouldn't like Mummy to take you home again, would you?"
"I want to go home!" replied Master Pemble. "I want to go home now! I do want to go home! I do!"
His mother interrupted this steady crescendo, saying: "Oh, Peter! Don't you know how sad it makes Mummy when you behave like this?"
"I'm not naughty, Mummy, am I?" asked Jennifer, jumping from one foot to the other with more energy than grace. "I kissed Mrs. Kane without being told to, didn't I, Mummy?"
"Yes, darling; but don't jump about like that! You'll get so hot."
Master Pemble, pardonably annoyed, saw fit at this point to deal his ecstatic sister a shrewd blow in the ribs. Jennifer at once complained of his brutality in a whining voice, and by the time Betty had reminded her that Peter was only a very little boy, after all, and told Peter that boys never, never hit girls, the original cause of the dispute had been forgotten. Rosemary, who by no means enjoyed the unenviable role of one waiting to be embraced by a reluctant child, made haste to conduct the party on to the south lawn below the terrace.
"You don't know how glad I am to see you!" she told Betty. "Honestly, if you hadn't come I think I should have gone mad!"
"My dear, I was only too pleased to come. I know so well what you must be—no, Peter dear, you mustn't pick the pretty flowers! Just look at them, but not touch! Aren't they lovely? I'm sure Auntie Rosemary wouldn't mind you smelling them. Jennifer darling, you show Peter how to smell the pretty flowers." She turned to Rosemary. "Jennifer's got the most extraordinary love of beauty. Of course, it's just heaven to her to be in this perfect garden. She'll talk of nothing else for weeks. I do so believe in bringing them up to have only beautiful thoughts, don't you?"
"I don't know," said Rosemary impatiently. "I don't know anything about children. I suppose they'll be all right playing about by themselves, won't they?"
"Oh, perfectly!" Betty assured her, sitting down in one of the deck chairs under a large cedar. "As long as they don't go out of sight, or anything. Run along, darlings, and play quietly together."
"There isn't anything to play with, Mummy," objected Jennifer.
"Never mind, darling; just run along and amuse yourselves! Mummy wants to talk to Auntie Rosemary."
"But, Mummy—"
"Pussy!" suddenly exclaimed Master Pemble as the kitchen cat crossed the lawn. "I want the pussy!"
Both children immediately launched themselves in the direction of the cat, screaming: "It's my pussy! I saw it first. You're not to have it." A fight to the death seemed inevitable; but the cat, after one horrified look, made for the shelter of the nearest hedge like a streak of lightning. The children, after vainly trying to lure it out again, returned disconsolately to their elders, and Peter informed Rosemary that he had had a pussy once.
"Yes, and do you know what happened to him, Auntie Rosemary?" asked Jennifer eagerly. "He got out on to the road, and a motorcar came and killed him flat!"
"He was squashed!" corroborated Peter with enthusiasm.
"I can't think who told them that!" said Betty in an annoyed voice. "I mean, I've always been so careful not to let them know anything about Death and that sort of thing."
For the next quarter of an hour all conversation between the two ladies was punctuated by admonitions from Betty to her children and answering whines from them that there was nothing to do. Fortunately for Rosemary's temper she caught sight of one of the gardeners and had the happy thought of consigning the children to his care. They went off with him, followed by a fire of affectionate reminders not to get hot, or cold, or overtired, or dirty, and were not seen again until teatime, the entertainment offered by the gardener being of a high order, namely, the plucking and drawing of a fowl killed that morning.
While Rosemary was unburdening herself to Betty Pemble in the garden, Jim Kane was confronting Paul Mansell in the library and thinking privately that he was a fairly nasty piece of work.
Upon arrival at Cliff House Paul had stayed only to greet Rosemary before going into the house. Pritchard had shown him into the library, where Jim presently joined him, and after a slight interchange of civilities he had broached the object of his talk. His father and he, though averse from obtruding the matter so soon, were anxious to know what the chief shareholder's policy was to be.
Jim laughed and shook his head. "No use asking me that yet, Mansell. I haven't had time to find my feet. Nets aren't much in my line, you know."
"Quite. We quite appreciate that," smiled Paul, crossing one leg over the other and gently swinging a suede-clad foot. "I expect it would suit you best to let Dad buy you out. You don't want to be bothered by business. I know I wouldn't touch it if I were in your place."
This was the conclusion Jim had already reached, but he now felt an irrational disinclination to leave the business in the Mansells' hands. He said: "No, I don't think I want to be bought out, thanks. How would you and your father feel about turning it into a public company?"
Paul Mansell put up his brows. "Rather a large question to answer offhand, isn't it? I don't know that I think Dad would quite cotton on to the idea. I really haven't considered it. What I came about—assuming that you don't wish to get out of having anything to do with the business—was to talk over the new venture with you. I don't know whether you've been told anything about our Australian scheme?"
"A certain amount," replied Jim.
"Ah, perhaps I had better explain it to you!" Paul said languidly.
Jim heard the explanation out, merely interrupting once or twice to put a question. His questions were so pertinent that Paul began to realise that this big cheerful young man was not the fool he had supposed him to be. His eyes narrowed a little; his voice grew more suave.