And then Bubbles seized his lean, strong hand. "Oh! I see what you mean!" she exclaimed. "You actually think your being in here is more proper if the door is open? But it isn't a bit—for everyone in the house but us two is fast asleep! Still, that won't go on long. So shut the door at once! I've something very important to say to you—something which I certainly don't want Pegler to hear me say to you. Pegler may come down any moment—she's such a good sort, under that stiff, cross manner. It's so queer she should disapprove of me, and approve of my Aunt Blanche, isn't it?"
He got up, and going to the door, shut it.
"Lock it!" she called out. "Lock it, Bill! I don't want to be disturbed;" she repeated in an odd voice, "I've something very important to say to you."
But this time he did not obey her, and as he came back towards the bed he said anxiously, "D'you still feel very bad, Bubbles?"
There was a tone of great tenderness and solicitude in his voice.
"Of course I do. So would you, if you'd died and come to life again."
"You didn't do that," he said in a low voice. "But you were very nearly drowned, Bubbles. However, we must try to forget it."
Again she mimicked him: "'We must try to forget it.' I was waiting for you to say that, too. As if we should ever forget it! But we won't think about it just now—because we've got to think of something else that's much more to the present purpose."
"Yes," he said soothingly. "Yes, Bubbles?"
Poor Bill felt very uncomfortable. He did not wish prim Miss Pegler to come in and find him sitting on Bubbles' bed, when no one was yet up in the house. These modern, unconventional ways were all very well, and he knew they often did not really mean anything, but still—but still ...