"Nothing, thank you. Good night."
"Good night to you, sir," responded Pringle. "If I might take the liberty of laying myself down, sir, near to you——"
"By all means," said Gilbert.
"Much obliged, sir," said Pringle, dropping to the ground. "I just gave a last look at the hut as I came past—and everything seemed very quiet. A snore or two, sir—but that only suggests peace. Good night, sir!"
CHAPTER XV
THE SIMPLE LIFE
IT must not be imagined for a moment that a person of the quality and the dignity of Mrs. Ewart-Crane could long sustain life under the conditions imposed upon her on that first night on the island. This promiscuous mixing with people in a very different sphere of life was not at all to her taste; she set about to remedy matters at the earliest possible opportunity.
Her slumbers during that night in the hut had been spoiled, as she declared, by the persistent snoring of Mrs. Stocker; Mrs. Stocker was equally emphatic that she had not snored at all, but that Mrs. Ewart-Crane, on the other hand, had been no quiet neighbour. To add to the good woman's troubles, her daughter Enid appeared to have struck up a sort of friendship with Bessie Meggison; there was much dodging to and fro from one compartment of the hut to the other, and a dragging aside in consequence of the improvised screen. More than that, Mrs. Ewart-Crane was conscious that after a night during which she had tossed about restlessly on what she designated as "leaves and twigs and prickles" she did not look her best. It seemed, too, that until something was devised ablutions were impossible.