"
"I promise to remember," Mr. Mitchett returned, "as soon as you make old
Van do the same."
"I do make old Van--I pull old Van up much oftener than I succeed in
pulling you. I must say," Mrs. Brookenham went on, "you're all getting
to require among you in general an amount of what one may call
editing!" She gave one of her droll universal sighs. "I've got your
books at any rate locked up and I wish you'd send for them quickly
again; one's too nervous about anything happening and their being
perhaps found among one's relics. Charming literary remains!" she
laughed.
The friendly Mitchy was also much amused. "By Jove, the most awful
things ARE found! Have you heard about old Randage and what his
executors have just come across? The most abominable--"
"I haven't heard," she broke in, "and I don't want to; but you give me a
shudder and I beg you'll have your offerings removed, since I can't
think of confiding them for the purpose to any one in this house. I
might burn them up in the dead of night, but even then I should be
fearfully nervous."
"I'll send then my usual messenger," said Mitchy, "a person I keep for
such jobs, thoroughly seasoned, as you may imagine, and of a discretion
--what do you call it?--a toute epreuve. Only you must let me say that I
like your terror about Harold! Do you think he spends his time over Dr.
Watts's hymns?"
Mrs. Brookenham just hesitated, and nothing, in general, was so becoming
to her as the act of hesitation.
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