"It looks as though we were going to occupy a great deal of Mr. Graeme's time," said Meg non-committally.
"It could not possibly be better occupied," he said exuberantly.
"And how about your story, Mr. Graeme? Is it at a standstill?" asked Miss Penny.
"Not at all. It's getting on capitally."
"Why, when do you work at it?"
"Oh,—between times, and when the spirit moves me and I've got nothing better to do."
"Is that how one writes books?"
"Sometimes. How do you feel about caves?"
"Ripping! If there's one thing we revel in it's caves, principally because we know nothing about them."
"Then we'll break you in on Grève de la Ville. They're comparatively easy, and another day we'll do the Boutiques and the Gouliots. Then we can get a whole day full of caves by going round the island in a boat—red caves and green caves and black caves and barking-dog caves—all sorts and conditions of caves—caves studded all round with anemones, and caves bristling with tiny jewelled sponges. Sark is just a honeycomb of caves."