I were you, I should say, 'Good-bye, Venia,' and close 'em again. Work
it up affecting, and send messages to your aunts."

"It sounds all right," said Blundell.

"It is all right," said Mr. Turnbull. "That's just the bare idea I've
given you. It's for you to improve upon it. You've got two days to
think about it."

Mr. Blundell thanked him, and for the next two days thought of little
else. Being a careful man he made his will, and it was in a
comparatively cheerful frame of mind that he made his way on Sunday
afternoon to Mr. Turnbull's.

The sergeant was already there conversing in low tones with Venia by the
window, while Mr. Turnbull, sitting opposite in an oaken armchair,
regarded him with an expression which would have shocked Iago.

"We were just thinking of having a blow down by the water," he said, as
Blundell entered.

"What! a hot day like this?" said Venia.

"I was just thinking how beautifully cool it is in here," said the
sergeant, who was hoping for a repetition of the previous Sunday's
performance.

"It's cooler outside," said Mr. Turnbull, with a wilful ignoring of
facts; "much cooler when you get used to it."