"Oh, I say," said Bill, going pink. "I'm awfully sorry. So that's why you were talking such rot."
"Partly, yes. And partly because I do feel rather bright this morning. We're going to have a busy day."
"Are we really? What are we going to do?"
"They're going to drag the pond—beg its pardon, the lake. Where is the lake?"
"We're on the way to it now, if you'd like to see it."
"We may as well look at it. Do you haunt the lake much in the ordinary way?"
"Oh, no, rather not. There's nothing to do there."
"You can't bathe?"
"Well, I shouldn't care to. Too dirty."
"I see.... This is the way we came yesterday, isn't it? The way to the village?"
"Yes. We go off a bit to the right directly. What are they dragging it for?"
"Mark."
"Oh, rot," said Bill uneasily. He was silent for a little, and then, forgetting his uncomfortable thoughts in his sudden remembrance of the exciting times they were having, said eagerly, "I say, when are we going to look for that passage?"
"We can't do very much while Cayley's in the house."
"What about this afternoon when they're dragging the pond? He's sure to be there."
Antony shook his head.
