Sir Edgar seemed most willing to make this excursion, and allowed Marsellus to fix an hour, greatly to the surprise of McGregor, whose look at his wife implied that he entertained serious doubts whether this baronet with walrus moustaches amounted to much after all.
The engagement made, Louie turned to Mrs. St. Peter.
“And won’t you come too, Dearest? You haven’t been out since we got our wonderful wrought-iron door fittings from Chicago. We found just the right sort of hinge and latch, Sir Edgar, and had all the others copied from it. None of your Colonial glass knobs for us!”
Mrs. St. Peter sighed. Scott and Kathleen had just glass-knobbed their new bungalow throughout, yet she knew Louie didn’t mean to hurt their feelings—it was his heedless enthusiasm that made him often say untactful things.
“We’ve been extremely fortunate in getting all the little things right,” Louie was gladly confiding to Sir Edgar.
“There’s really not a flaw in the conception. I can say that, because I’m a mere onlooker; the whole thing’s been done by the Norwegian and my wife and Mrs. St. Peter. And,” he put his hand down affectionately upon Mrs. St. Peter’s bare arm, “ and we’ve named our place! I’ve already ordered the house stationery. No, Rosamond, I won’t keep our little secret any longer. It will please your father, as well as your mother. We call our place ‘Outland,’ Sir Edgar.”
He dropped the announcement and drew back. His mother-in-law rose to it—Spilling could scarcely be expected to understand.
“How splendid, Louie! A real inspiration.”