All Passion Spent

by Vita Sackville-West

house,’ said Lady Slane, ‘and apparently,’ she added with a smile that undid the viceregal manner, ‘you approve of me as a tenant. But what about business? What about the rent?’ He gave her a startled look; evidently, he had been busy pig-sticking by himself in the interval; had returned to life as a Hussar, forgetting himself as owner and agent. He put his finger to his nose this time, quizzing Lady Slane, giving himself time to think. The subject seemed distasteful to him, though relics of a business training tugged at him, jerking some string in his mind; he lived, naturally, in a world where rents were not of much importance. So did Lady Slane; and thus a pair more ill-assorted, and yet better assorted, to discuss rents could scarcely be imagined. ‘The rent…the rent…’ said Mr Bucktrout, as one who endeavours to establish connection with some word in a foreign language he once has known. Then he brightened. ‘Of course: the rent,’ he said briskly. ‘You want to take the house on a yearly tenancy?’ he