“How?” Reeder asked, with interest.
“I hid my Nannie’s nail-scissors in the pocket of my pinafore and made my way into his study one morning; he was delighted to get a visit and when he began kissing me I took them out, and cut a piece off one side of the beard!”
“Well done!” Philip said, laughing.
“Yes, he was furious, and never kissed me again. In fact I don’t think I was taken to Glentoran again till after he was dead. But the place owes him a lot” she said. “All right—drive on, Philip; I mustn’t delay you with my chatter.”
“I value your chatter—I learn a lot from it,” her host said, letting in the clutch. And when they got back to the house he went to his study and jotted down what he had learned about the planting of trees at Glentoran in a book he kept of notes on the place which was his wife’s inheritance, and which he had come to love dearly.
This electronic edition published in 2011 by Bloomsbury Reader
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Copyright © 1973 Ann Bridge
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ISBN: 9781448205714
eISBN: 9781448205400
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