She had an impulse to sweep him off into the water.
"I shall speak to Mr. Marshall about this," she said hotly. "I do not propose to be spied upon by a servant."
Pete made a gesture of deprecation.
"Why be nasty, miss? Let's talk about something pleasanter. You know, if we both started telling all we knew there might be a great deal of embarrassment."
"Just what do you mean by that?" she demanded.
"I leave it to your imagination," he said cryptically.
"I can tell things myself," she said savagely.
"Exactly, miss. So why shouldn't we be friends? Why can't we establish a real democracy? I won't always be a valet; some day I'll be a bishop."
"I believe you're nothing but a fraud!"
"Well, now," observed Pete in a mild tone, "I might remark, on the other hand—but I think the master is coming."