The Countess paid no attention. She went on and on. And she finally stopped as suddenly as she had begun.
“There!” she said. “I have told you. We have money—but no organisation. It is organisation we need.”
Lady Coote sighed.
“I’ve heard my husband say that nothing can be done without regular methods. He attributes his own success entirely to that. He declares he would never have got on without them.”
She sighed again. A sudden fleeting vision passed before her eyes of a Sir Oswald who had not got on in the world. A Sir Oswald who retained, in all essentials, the attributes of that cheery young man in the bicycle shop. Just for a second it occurred to her how much pleasanter life might have been for her if Sir Oswald had not had regular methods.
By a quite understandable association of ideas she turned to Bundle.
“Tell me, Lady Eileen,” she said, “do you like that head gardener of yours?”
“MacDonald? Well—” Bundle hesitated. “One couldn’t exactly like MacDonald,” she explained apologetically. “But he’s a first-class gardener.”
“Oh! I know he is,” said Lady Coote.
She looked enviously at Bundle, who appeared to approach the task of keeping MacDonald in his place so light-heartedly.
“I’d just adore a high-toned garden,” said the Countess dreamily.
Bundle stared, but at that moment a diversion occurred. Jimmy Thesiger entered the room and spoke directly to her in a strange, hurried voice.