"We have a drain-bamboo," I said eagerly. "Amelia uses it regularly."
"Amelia sounds a sensible young person. I should like to see her and the cottage. I'm interested in young people. I was young myself once, though you mightn't think it."
"Perhaps it was some time ago," I observed.
"Yes, it's a long time." His eyes became reminiscent. "I jumped into an old man the day my wife died, very old. Then I took up ballooning. I thought that might prove the surest method of ending myself—short of suicide. Don't like suicide—unpleasant and dramatic." He still spoke with cheerful detachment.
"And are you a professional balloonist—ascend from the Crystal Palace and that sort of thing?" I asked.
He looked at me with amused surprise, I imagined, for an instant; in fact, he laughed.
"Oh, no, I am not a professional. I am engaged on various work. Generally pretty busy. Ballooning is my hobby. If you've plenty to do you can't be lonely."
"We shall be very glad to see you," I said, suddenly feeling very sorry for this eccentric person. A shadow had crept across his face as he had spoken. How dreadful to be lonely, I thought. "Our village is Pine Tree Valley. We searched about till we found a place set among the pines. I love them so. Perhaps you will dine with us one evening?"
"It is very kind of you," he said quickly, "but I never dine with people. They invariably eat fattening, indigestible things. If I went out to dinner I shouldn't have ribs like knife blades." He spoke quite proudly. "But I should like to call and see the baby."
"There isn't a baby." Dimbie's voice was irritable, and my cheeks were scarlet.