She hurried, all the same, with considerable alacrity to the machine, and really there was no thought in her mind of having the telephone taken out, for it had only just been installed. The call, however, was rather a disappointment, for it only concerned a pair of walking shoes. There was no need, however, to tell Georgie that, and pressing her finger to her forehead she said, “Yes, I can manage 3.30,” (which meant nothing) and quickly rang off. “Not a moment’s peace,” said Lucia. “Ting-a-ting-a-ting from morning till night. Now tell me all about Riseholme, Georgie; that will give me such a delicious feeling of tranquillity. Dear me, who is this coming to interrupt us now?” It was only Pepino. He seemed leisurely enough, and rather unnecessarily explained that he had only been out to get a tooth-brush from the chemist’s in Brompton Road. This he carried in a small paper parcel. “And there’s the man coming about the telephone this morning, Lucia,” he said. “You want the extension to your bedroom, don’t you?” “Yes, dear, as we have got it in the house we may as well have it conveniently placed,” she said. “I’m sure the miles I walk up and down stairs, as I was telling Georgie----” Pepino chuckled. “She woke them up, Georgie,” he said. “None of their leisurely London ways for Lucia. She had the telephone put into the house in record time. Gave them no peace till she got it done.” “Very wise,” said Georgie tactfully. “That’s the way to get things. Well, about Riseholme. We’ve really been very busy indeed.” “Dear old place!” said Lucia. “Tell me all about it.” Georgie rapidly considered with himself whether he should mention the Museum. He decided against it, for, put it as you might, the Museum, apart from the convenience of getting rid of interesting rubbish, was of a conspiratorial nature, a policy of revenge against Lucia for her desertion, and a demonstration of how wonderfully well and truly they all got on without her. It was then, the mark of a highly injudicious conspirator to give information to her against whom this plot was directed. “Well, Daisy has been having some most remarkable experiences,” he said. “She got a ouija board and a planchette--we use the planchette most--and very soon it was quite clear that messages were coming through from a guide.” Lucia laughed with a shrill metallic note of rather hostile timbre. “Dear Daisy,” she said. “If only she would take commonsense as her guide. I suppose the guide is a Chaldean astrologer or King Nebuchadnezzar.” “Not at all,” said Georgie. “It’s an Egyptian called Abfou.” A momentary pang of envy shot through Lucia. She could well imagine the quality of excitement which thrilled Riseholme, how Georgie would have popped in to tell her about it, and how she would have got a ouija board too, and obtained twice as many messages as Daisy. She hated the thought of Daisy having Abfou all her own way, and gave another little shrill laugh.