"I haven't the smallest doubt of that," he replied. "After all, what would happen if I gave you away to the Fountains? You would merely be shown the door. That wouldn't help me in the least."
She prepared to leave him, but paused to say: "All right! But if you think you're going to find out anything about me you're wrong."
"Would you like to take a bet on it?" he inquired.
But she had gone. Mr. Amberley gave a laugh under his breath, stooped to pick up the handkerchief she had dropped, and began to stroll away towards the hall.
Chapter Five
Mr. Amberley, with a sloth his cousin found disgusting, spent most of the next morning in a somnolent state in the garden. A burst of hot sunshine induced Felicity, always optimistic, to put up the hammock. Mr. Amberley observed this, and approved. Felicity found him stretched in it an hour after breakfast, tried to turn him out, failed, and went off very scornfully to play hard-court tennis.
But Mr. Amberley was not destined to be left for long in peace. Shortly after twelve o'clock his aunt came out and poked him with her sunshade. He opened his eyes, surveyed her in silent indignation, and closed them again.
"Dear Frank — so sylvan. But you must wake up. The most tiresome thing."
Without opening his eyes Mr. Amberley murmured a sentence he knew by heart. "Bridges haven't sent the fish, and unless I will be an angel and run into Upper Nettlefold for it there won't be any lunch."
"No, nothing like that. At least, I trust not. That man who annoys your uncle."