Perfectly unconscious that if wishes could have killed he must have fallen down shrivelled to a cinder on the garden path, he rolled on happily between us towards the French windows of the dining-room, prattling robustiously all the way.
“Nothing comes up to that nine-o’clock-in-the-morning smell of bacon and coffee, does it? Smells far better than it tastes, they say! Which reminds me that I once heard a young lady, Nancy, my dear—only she was a cynical young person, not nearly so pretty—I heard her say that the best part of frizzling bacon was like Love—all in the anticipation! Never tasted as good as it promised to, so to speak! Of course you don’t agree with her?”
“No, oh, no!” I cried hastily, partly because I felt I must disagree with somebody, partly because I realized that the inevitable effect of this detestable old man upon his nephew was to strike him dumb when he ought to have spoken!
“Ah, quite right, quite right!” responded Uncle Albert, with an affectionate pressure of my arm in his. “That’s the attitude! I don’t believe in this modern plan of analysing everything down to nothing, do you?”
“Hate it,” I said viciously—meaning that I hated having my arm squeezed by horrible relations-in-law never-to-be.
“I see you do! Good! My dear, I’m delighted to find that Billy’s sweetheart sees eye to eye with Billy’s uncle on so many points. That’s why I’m taking you out this morning—Oh, yes! you too, my boy! Not going to separate the turtle-doves!—going to take you both out if you can beg mother off from church. I’m going to motor you over—not a hundred miles away, and show you something—Aha! Something that I fancy you will approve of as much as I do!”
“Heavens! What will this new horror turn out to be?” thought I; catching the same question in the Governor’s eye as we entered the dining-room, where the family, including Cariad, was already at breakfast, and sat down to the coffee and bacon of old Mr. Waters’ disgusting metaphor. We weren’t long spared the answer to that question.
“Now, Mary! I’ve just been telling our two young people here,” began Uncle Albert almost at once, “that they’re going over in the car with me this fine morning to look at something I particularly want them to see. Now, I’ll give you three guesses what it is—No, I won’t—”
(Interrupting Theo, who had leapt up in her chair with a shriek of “Wedding presents! That picture!”)
“—I want the pleasure of telling you myself. Picture? No, child. Something to put the picture in—to be the picture in, ho, ho! It’s a house to let!”