"Don't forget Horatius," I signalled.
"I—I should sit on you!" With which terrific exhibition of courage she took to her heels and fled.
"I mustn't laugh," I told myself, "or everything will be spoiled."
Peter stood in the middle of the room, staring at the closed door.
"I believe your mother is trying to be funny," he remarked when he had got his breath.
"Mother is often funny," I murmured.
"I have noticed she has been a bit strange lately."
"Oh?"
"Very secretive."
"Indeed?"