But anyhow, on arrival, they found Mr. and Mrs. Tody had retired in a temper to relations in Gullick; and instead, they were warmly welcomed by the mysterious Abbotts, who, with their onions and biscuit-boxes, were camping in the kitchen; and, with a lazy proprietorial air, re-painting the front door. The Abbotts told them that they had rented Parc Gooth for seven years from their dear friend Miss Gregson who built it, but had to leave it because St. Miniot passionately rejected her nice new Italian-Circus husband who jumped through hoops. The Abbotts sub-let it for three years, complete with Todys, to the Laceys. Tody, apparently, had been St. Miniot’s cobbler, but ever since eccentric and lovable Miss Gregson had built Parc Gooth, he had renounced cobbling, and devoted himself to the house. After expensively re-decorating the house, and doing their utmost to efface some of the blatant rigid hideousness of its exterior, Mr. Lacey suddenly took an urgent dislike to the house, and returned with his wife to Nottingham. The rumour crept about, as it always did on these occasions, that they were ruined. The Abbotts told Doug that they had never received any rent from the Laceys, and therefore the Laceys had no right to the rent which Doug had paid. “Abbott’s your landlord, not Lacey,” was the situation’s paraphrase on the immortal Codlin. To which the Laceys retorted, by letter, that they had paid their rent, due to the Abbotts, direct to Miss Gregson, because they did not trust the Abbotts and nor did Tody!... “Then did our rent, via the Laceys, also go to Miss Gregson?” wondered Ursula, as she and Doug, sitting side by side on a piece of granite stone on the moors, tried to grasp the intricacies of Parc Gooth. “And do the Abbotts also pay Miss Gregson for their seven years? And supposing Miss Gregson doesn’t exist at all?” “I dunno,” said Doug, gloomily, stretched at her feet. “We’ll see if Tody says we may trust old Wright. Parc Gooth is rather like a musical comedy, isn’t it? composed by--libretto by--lyrics by--additional lyrics--and entirely new costumes and scenery in Act II. I say, we’re half-way to Polpinnock Head. Let’s go on, and have a drink with Wenn and see about his cottage to let. I’m fed up with Parc Gooth.” “Wright said we were to leave it to him to open discreet negotiations without mentioning names.” “Well, I can negotiate as discreetly as a small village shopkeeper, I suppose ...” and Doug marched up to a man standing in the doorway of the one hotel at Polpinnock, with a bluff: “Good day. Are you Wenn? Wright of St. Miniot tells me you’ve got a house to let. What about letting it to us, eh?... My name’s Barrison.” Ursula, in the background, smiled--and adored him. Mr. Wenn said eagerly that he had indeed a house to let, a beautiful house, a gentleman’s house--but--hastily amending his eagerness--he did not at all want to let it. In fact, he intended to live in it himself....