"I am. I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm in terror of them," he said.
"But where are we going to elope to?"
John picked up the Times.
"If only the Murmania," he began. "And by Jove, she will too," he cried. "Yes, she's due to sail from Liverpool on April 1st."
"But that's your birthday," she objected.
"Exactly."
"And I've already sent out those invitations."
"Exactly. For some years my relations have made an April fool of me by dining at my expense on that day. I have two corner-cupboards overflowing with their gifts—the most remarkable exhibition of cheapness and ingenuity ever known. This year I am going to make April fools of them."
"By marrying me?" she laughed.
"Well, of course it's no use pretending that they'll be delighted by that joke, though I intend to play another still more elaborately unpleasant. At the back of all their minds exists one anxiety—the dispositions of my last will and testament. Very well. I am going to cure that worry forever by leaving them Ambles. I can't imagine anything more irritating than to be left a house in common with a number of people whom you hate. Oh, it's an exquisite revenge. Darling secretary, take down for dictation as your last task the following: