“Stupid of me not to have thought of it at once,” said Daisy. “Why, don’t you see? Pepino is Auntie’s heir, for she was unmarried, and he’s the only nephew, and probably he has been left piles and piles. So naturally they say it’s a terrible blow. Wouldn’t do to be exultant. They must say it’s a terrible blow, to show they don’t care about the money. The more they’re left, the sadder it is. So natural. I blame myself for not having thought of it at once. Have you seen her since?” “Not for a quiet talk,” said Georgie. “Pepino was there, and a man who, I think, was Pepino’s lawyer. He was frightfully deferential.” “That proves it,” said Daisy. “And nothing said of any kind?” Georgie’s face screwed itself up in the effort to remember. “Yes, there was something,” he said, “but I was talking to Lucia, and the others were talking rather low. But I did hear the lawyer say something to Pepino about pearls. I do remember the word ‘pearls.’ Perhaps it was the old lady’s pearls.” Mrs. Quantock gave a short laugh. “It couldn’t have been Pepino’s,” she said. “He has one in a tie-pin. It’s called pear-shaped, but there’s little shape about it. When do wills come out?” “Oh, ages,” said Georgie. “Months. And there’s a house in London, I know.” “Whereabouts?” asked Daisy greedily. Georgie’s face assumed a look of intense concentration. “I couldn’t tell you for certain,” he said, “but I know Pepino went up to town not long ago to see about some repairs to his aunt’s house, and I think it was the roof.” “It doesn’t matter where the repairs were,” said Daisy impatiently. “I want to know where the house was.” “You interrupt me,” said Georgie. “I was telling you. I know he went to Harrod’s afterward and walked there, because he and Lucia were dining with me and he said so. So the house must have been close to Harrod’s, quite close I mean, because it was raining, and if it had been any reasonable distance he would have had a taxi. So it might be Knightsbridge.” Mrs. Quantock put on her gardening-gloves again. “How frightfully secretive people are,” she said. “Fancy his never having told you where his aunt’s house was.” “But they never spoke of her,” said Georgie. “She’s been in that nursing-home so many years.” “You may call it a nursing-home,” observed Mrs. Quantock, “or, if you choose, you may call it a post office. But it was an asylum. And they’re just as secretive about the property.” “But you never talk about the property till after the funeral,” said Georgie. “I believe it’s to-morrow.” Mrs. Quantock gave a prodigious sniff. “They would have, if there hadn’t been any,” she said. “How horrid you are,” said Georgie. “How----” His speech was cut off by several loud sneezes. However beautiful the sleeve-links, it wasn’t wise to stand without a coat after being in such a heat. “How what?” asked Mrs. Quantock, when the sneezing was over. “I’ve forgotten now. I shall get back to my rolling. A little chilly. I’ve done half the lawn.”