“Bought a brewery!” said Uncle Bainbridge. “Good brewery! Good beer! Like English beer! Like English people!”
1 felt that this was a little irrelevant, and I am sure that Miss Sophia felt the same way.
“Bought a castle!” said Uncle Bainbridge, warming to the work. “Fine castle! Like castles! Fix it up! Live in it! Settle here! Like England! Fine country.”
“A castle! Oh, how lovely!” shrilled Miss Sophia, clapping her hands girlishly. “How lovely for all of us!”
“Not invited!” roared Uncle Bainbridge, taking us all in with one sweeping gesture. “None of you!”
There was silence for a moment.
“Going to get married!” said Uncle Bainbridge, rising to his feet. “Not Sophia! Caught Sophia—behind bookcase! Knew all the time! Sneaky trick! Marry fine woman! Henry saw her—over the fence that day! Fine woman! Curate's mother here! Dumplings! Fine dumplings! Learned to make 'em for me! She don't want—to get too thick—with any my relations! She says—all of you—are too American!”
And as Uncle Bainbridge blew his nose loudly and sat down there was a sudden rattle of rapping from the bookcase: nothing so articulate as a remark in the code, but a sound more like a ripple of well-bred laughter. This was the last we ever heard from Lady Agatha, and I have sometimes wondered just what she meant by it. It is so hard, sometimes, to understand just what the English are laughing at.