I obeyed. One always obeyed when Miss Damer spoke in that tone, and evidently some particularly private business was in hand. Already the child's impulsive fingers were fumbling with the catch of her chain purse.
I took up my stand a considerable distance away. I had no fears of Lively. One does not snatch at the purse of an angel from heaven. My only concern was that the angel's generosity might outrun her discretion.
I could hear her making a breathless little speech, but Lively said never a word. I was not altogether surprised. Probably he was afraid of waking up.
Presently she came back to me, smiling farewell at her pensioner over her shoulder.
"You'll give one of them to your wife, won't you?" was the last thing I heard her say.
Then she rejoined me, and we walked on.
"How much money," I enquired severely, "will you have left out of your winnings, after providing for me and your other friend and the families of the coachman and the gardener and the lodge-keeper?"
Again Miss Damer was not attending.
"Poor Lively!" she said softly.
There were tears in her eyes.