CHAPTER VIT
HE summer saw Theophilus lord, effectively of the Manor, and titularly of The Grange. Evelina had followed him thither in a state of bewildered meekness. He had told her in set, though courteous terms, that, should she choose to inhabit the Blackheath house, she was free to do so, but that he himself would live in Hertfordshire.
“It’s absurd to talk of separate establishments,” she had said.
“Naturally.”
“If we live at The Grange how can I get backwards and forwards to Greenwich?”
“Give up Greenwich.”
She gasped at the revolutionary suggestion.
“I can’t. I’ve promised John Roberts I wouldn’t. He’ll be Mayor next year, with Heaven knows what kind of a Bolshevik Council.”
“John Roberts is a very good fellow, my dear,” said Theophilus, “but I don’t see that I’m called upon
