"That," I said, "is disagreeable of you. Amelia's efforts were well meant."
"Hope she won't have any more," he said, with his mouth full of pie.
"Amelia will never cease to surprise us as long as she lives with us. She is a curious mixture of extreme cleverness and astonishing simplicity. And I believe her heart's in the right place, though it is difficult to tell, so surrounded is it by bones and patches."
I fell to thinking of her, and forgot Dimbie and the lunch. Amelia will have much to answer for, for displacement of my thoughts. Before I only thought of Dimbie; now Amelia edges in, try as I will to keep her out. Why should my mind be taken up with a Cockney girl educated in the Mile End Road? I object.
Dimbie took me away from her.
"By Jove, isn't it stunning here! The sun is as hot as in June. I want a series of birthdays in which to ride away with you farther and farther till we reach the sea. Then we can sit upon the sands and tell glad stories of our love. And you must always wear that blue serge frock and let the sun wander through your hair as it is doing now."
"Are you quite sure there is nothing more you want?" I inquired.
"Yes, I want to kiss you—that little spot on your right cheek which is pink and sunburnt."
"Well, you can't," I replied. "If you move you will upset the claret and glasses."
"Don't care," he said, and as he kissed me a man appeared from among the pine trees.