“But it’s impossible,” said Daisy, speaking in a sort of conspiratorial whisper. “It’s queer enough her coming without telling any of us, but now she’s here, she surely must ring somebody up.” Georgie was thinking intently. “The next thing that will happen,” he said, “will be that servants and luggage will arrive from the station. They’ll be here any minute; I heard the 3.20 whistle just now. She and Pepino have driven down.” “I shouldn’t wonder,” said Daisy. “But even now, what about the chickens and all those eggs? Georgie, it must have been her cook who came last night--she and Pepino were dining out in London--and ordered all those provisions this morning. But there were enough to last them a week. And three pints of cream, so I’ve heard since, and enough ice for a skating rink and----” It was then that Georgie had the flash of intuition that was for ever memorable. It soared above inductive reasoning. “She’s having a week-end party of some of her smart friends from London,” he said slowly. “And she doesn’t want any of us.” Daisy blinked at this amazing light. Then she cast one withering glance in the direction of The Hurst. “She!” she said. “And her shingles. And her seed-pearls! That’s all.” A minute afterward the station cab arrived pyramidal with luggage. Four figures disembarked, three female and one male. “The major-domo,” said Daisy, and without another word marched back into her house to ask Abfou about it all. He came through at once, and wrote “Snob” all over the paper. There was no reason why Georgie should not finish his sketch, and he sat down again and began by taking out the rest of the misplaced cobalt. He felt so certain of the truth of his prophecy that he just let it alone to fulfil itself, and for the next hour he never worked with more absorbed attention. He knew that Daisy came out of her house, walking very fast, and he supposed she was on her way to spread the news and forecast the sequel. But beyond the fact that he was perfectly sure that a party from London was coming down for the week-end, he could form no idea of what would be the result of that. It might be that Lucia would ask him or Daisy, or some of her old friends to dine, but if she had intended to do that she would probably have done it already. The only alternative seemed to be that she meant to ignore Riseholme altogether. But shortly before the arrival of the fast train from London at 4.30, his prophetical calm began (for he was but human) to be violently agitated, and he took his tea in the window of his drawing-room, which commanded a good view of the front garden of The Hurst, and put his opera-glasses ready to hand. The window was a big bow, and he distinctly saw the end of Robert’s brass telescope projecting from the corresponding window next door.