"And you'll sit up in bed in the morning, with your hair all about your
eyes, and smile at him, and he'll growl back at you--I can just see
you."

"Thanks awfully. But you're wrong about my hair."

"Is it never unruly?"

"Only by day. I wish to goodness I could wear it down."

"So do I. Then we could all sit on it when the grass was wet. At the
moment there's a particularly beautiful tress caressing your left
shoulder. And I think you ought to know that the wind is kissing it
quite openly. It's all very embarrassing. I hope I shan't catch it," I
added cheerfully.

Miss Deriot made a supreme effort to look severe.

"If you do," she said uncertainly, "I shall drive straight into the
horse-pond."

"'Sh!" said I reprovingly. "You oughtn't to jest about such things. You
might catch it yourself. Easily." Here we passed the horse-pond. "You
know you'll never be able to look fierce so long as you have that
dimple. You'll have to fill it up or something. I suppose it's full of
dew every morning now."

Without a word Agatha slowed down, turned up a by-road, and stopped.
Then she proceeded to back the car.