Eternity Ring by Patricia Wentworth Page A

wages, and what’s he spending them on?’—that’s what I said. ‘Or who? You ask yourself that, Ellen!’ I said.”
    “I shouldn’t have thought Mark Harlow could really afford to keep a chauffeur,” said Miss Alvina. “Old Mr. Harlow’s affairs were said to be very much embarrassed—and then of course the death duties—”
    “Oh, but he had money of his own.” Mrs. Bowse was emphatic.
    “I never understood—”
    “He couldn’t keep up the place as he does if he hadn’t something very substantial.” She turned to Monica Abbott. “That’s what your son-in-law found—wasn’t it? And of course worse for him than for Mark, because he was really only quite a distant cousin, wasn’t he, and that would make those wretched duties so very much heavier. Quite iniquitous of course, but we’ll never get rid of them, I suppose. Now do tell me, Mrs. Abbott—is it really true that he’s been selling the family diamonds?”
    Monica smiled vaguely. Behind the vagueness there was a burning anger. It was a solace to reflect that Mabel Bowse could have clothed herself in no more unbecoming garment than the green-and-brown checked tweed she was wearing. It was too tight, it was too bright. It bulged where she bulged, and it clung where it shouldn’t have clung. Soothed by these thoughts, she said in a dreamy voice,
    “I don’t know—why don’t you ask him?”
    Mrs. Bowse said, “Oh, well—” and turned without visible discomfiture to Miss Silver. “We’re all quite devoted to Grant Hathaway and most anxious to see him make a success of his experiments. It’s all very modern and scientific, and a great deal too technical for me. But of course that sort of thing just eats capital, and it’s years before you can expect any return, so I’m afraid he’s having a tough time. He succeeded a very old cousin, and the place had been allowed to go to rack and ruin.”
    Monica had the feeling that she might have been allowed to explain her own son-in-law, but being cross with Mrs. Bowse didn’t get you anywhere, it just bounced off. She had passed to Mark Harlow now.
    “He came into the Grange just about the same time that Grant came into Deepside, but he doesn’t attempt to farm the land himself. He’s not interested in that sort of thing. As he says, he spent the six years of the war working very hard and getting very dirty, and he thinks he’s entitled to be clean for a change and have some leisure. Well, I don’t mince my words, and I said to him, ‘You know, you’re an idle young man,’ and he laughed and said he was. Actually, you know, he’s musical—writes songs and gets quite a lot of money for them. He did the music for that revue that was so successful last year—what was it called?—all those things are so alike, I can’t remember. At least I know he did some of the songs, because he told me.”
    Miss Silver coughed.
    “How extremely interesting.”
    Miss Vinnie murmured, “He’s really a very charming young man,” but that was as far as she was able to get. The deep, strong voice of Mrs. Bowse rolled over her.
    “Well, it doesn’t go with farming, does it? He lets the land to Stokes, which saves him a lot of trouble, and Stokes is glad to get it because the grazing is so good. Stokes does a big dairy business. If that niece of his wasn’t such a finicking fine lady she could make herself very useful there. As it is, I think they’re very good to put up with her, and so I told Mrs. Stokes. ‘Why don’t you put that girl to a job of work?’ I said. And she didn’t like it a bit—got as red as if she’d scorched her face over the fire, and said Mary wasn’t strong. Well, I wasn’t going to put up with that, so I said, ‘She’s strong enough to be out till all hours, and she’s strong enough to go round with the eggs and butter to any house where there’s a good-looking young man.’ And would you believe it, she looked as if she was going to fly out at me. I really thought