CHAPTER XVI 

One sunny forenoon, as Agatha sat reading on the doorstep of the conservatory, the shadow of her parasol deepened, and she, looking up for something denser than the silk of it, saw Trefusis. 

"Oh!" 

She offered him no further greeting, having fallen in with his habit of dispensing, as far as possible, with salutations and ceremonies. He seemed in no hurry to speak, and so, after a pause, she began, "Sir Charles--" 

"Is gone to town," he said. "Erskine is out on his bicycle. Lady Brandon and Miss Lindsay have gone to the village in the wagonette, and you have come out here to enjoy the summer sun and read rubbish. I know all your news already." 

"You are very clever, and, as usual, wrong. Sir Charles has not gone to town. He has only gone to the railway station for some papers; he will be back for luncheon. How do you know so much of our affairs?" 

"I was on the roof of my house with a field-glass. I saw you come out and sit down here. Then Sir Charles passed. Then Erskine. Then Lady Brandon, driving with great energy, and presenting a remarkable contrast to the disdainful repose of Gertrude." 

"Gertrude! I like your cheek." 

"You mean that you dislike my presumption." 

"No, I think cheek a more expressive word than presumption; and I mean that I like it--that it amuses me." 

"Really! What are you reading?" 

"Rubbish, you said just now. A novel." 

"That is, a lying story of two people who never existed, and who would have acted very differently if they had existed." 
What about Erskine?
"Erskine is out on his bicycle