She therefore said nothing, and allowed Mrs. Wilkins to leap at
her conclusions unchecked. But they did, both of them, for a whole day
feel that the only thing to be done was to renounce the mediaeval
castle; and it was in arriving at this bitter decision that they really
realized how acute had been their longing for it.
Then Mrs. Arbuthnot, whose mind was trained in the finding of
ways out of difficulties, found a way out of the reference difficulty;
and simultaneously Mrs. Wilkins had a vision revealing to her how to
reduce the rent.
Mrs. Arbuthnot's plan was simple, and completely successful. She
took the whole of the rent in person to the owner, drawing it out of
her Savings Bank--again she looked furtive and apologetic, as if the
clerk must know the money was wanted for purposes of self-indulgence--
and, going up with the six ten pound notes in her hand-bag to the
address near the Brompton Oratory where the owner lived, presented them
to him, waiving her right to pay only half. And when he saw her, and
her parted hair and soft dark eyes and sober apparel, and heard her
grave voice, he told her not to bother about writing round for those
references.
"It'll be all right," he said, scribbling a receipt for the rent.
"Do sit down, won't you? Nasty day, isn't it? You'll find the old
castle has lots of sunshine, whatever else it hasn't got.
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