“Besides that,” he went on deliberately, “there’s something I was thinking over last night, for quite a time before I went to sleep.”
Ah! At last!
“I wanted to suggest——” he was saying, when, from behind the leafy screen of the pergola there came a booming cry of:
“Aha! Here they are! here they are! Might have known what they were at! Love among the roses, eh?”
And in another moment there hove into view the rotund, white-waistcoated form and the rosy John Bull face, smiling under the light grey, dented felt hat, of Uncle Albert Waters.
Beaming and rubbing his hands, he advanced upon us.
“Now, young people, young people! Breakfast’s ready! Didn’t hear the gong, eh? No, of course not. Something better to listen to, as I said. I heard you, Billy! I heard you whistling under her window half an hour ago! Something worth while being an early bird for now, what? But come along.”
He slipped one arm into his nephew’s, the other into mine, and wheeled us round towards the house.
“I told your mother I’d come out myself and fetch you in!”