"Is your father ready?"
"Coming this minute," said Ruthie, and added in a sudden falsetto, designed to penetrate to an upper window of the villa, "Aren't you, Daddy?"
"I'll sound the horn to let him know you're ready," volunteered Ambrose, outstretching a pair of hands, noted with disgust by Sir Julian as displaying the identical traces of syrup proclaimed by his sister an hour ago.
"No, Peekaboo! Not you—me!"
"Neither of you," said Sir Julian succinctly.
"May I get up beside you?"
"No."
"Will you take me into Culmouth too? Oh, do!"
"Certainly not. You are too dirty."
"There, Peekaboo," said Ruthie, with a sudden access of extreme virtue. "What did I tell you? I've washed, Sir Julian."