He was gone. On the drive his parent received him, with incredulous joy, as one returned from the tomb, greeting him—to his great embarrassment—with an unaccustomed kiss. Then, having cuffed him on the head to restore her self-respect, she led him down to the village, where Master Bobby found himself occupying a position in the public eye calculated to swell his head beyond all hope of recovery.
But Bobby's threats and Bobby's taunts were alike immaterial to Alf. His mind was occupied with greater things. He went upstairs to Bill and found that sybarite placidly sleeping, while Lucy sat by his head rhythmically waving a fan. Mr. Montmorency's mouth was open and his snores reverberated through the room. Alf eyed him with disgust, and then woke him by the simple but efficacious method of kicking him in the ribs. He sat up and expostulated.
"What the 'ell ... oh, it's you, is it?... Well, what d'yer mean by it? An' what's wrong now?"
Alf glared at him morosely.
"A lot you care," he returned. "'Ow much 'elp 'ave you given me over this job, you blinkin' soaker?"
"If you wants a clip over the ear-'ole," began Bill, with heat, "you on'y got to go on askin' for it. As for 'elp, I'm waitin' till I'm needed. What's up now? 'Ave they slung you out o' the 'ouse, or what? I can't 'elp yer table manners, you know."
"She's engaged."
"'Oo is?"
"'Er—Miss FitzPeter."