"But in March
or April, I take flight from here--I return to the chase. To use a
hunting metaphor, in the summer I kill--and store. In the winter I
consume--ruminate--chew the cud. Do you follow my metaphor?"
"Not precisely," said Tyson, looking at him with a quiet antagonism. "I
suppose you mean you buy things and send them home?"
Melrose nodded. "Every dealer in Europe knows me by now--and expects
me. They put aside their best things for me. And I prefer to hunt in
summer--even in the hot countries. Heat has no terror, for me; and
there are fewer of your damned English and American tourists about."
"I see." Tyson hesitated a moment, then said: "And I suppose, sir, Mrs.
Melrose goes with you?"
"Not at all! You cannot go dragging babies about Europe any more than is
absolutely necessary. Mrs. Melrose will make her home here, and will no
doubt become very much attached to this charming old house. By the way,
what neighbours are there?"
"Practically none, sir."
"But there is a church--and I suppose a parson?"
"Not resident. The clergyman from Gimmers Wick comes over alternate
Sundays."
"H'm. Then I don't see why I was asked to contribute to church repairs.
What's the good of keeping the place up at all?"
"The people here, sir, set great store both by their church and their
services. They have been hoping, now that you and Mrs. Melrose have come
to live here, that you might perhaps be willing to pay some suitable man
to take the full duty.
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