She says it very loudly and distinctly and for Mrs. Winters to hear. XLVII Oliver wakes around one o'clock with a dim consciousness that noisy crowds of people have been talking very loudly at him a good many too many times during the past few hours, but that he has managed to fool them, many or few, by always acting as much like a Body as possible. His chief wish is to turn over on the other side and sleep for another seven hours or so, but one of those people is standing respectfully beside his bed and though Oliver blinks eyes at him reproachfully, he will not vanish back into his proper nonentity--he remains standing there--obsequious words come out of his mouth. “Ten minutes to one, sir. Lunch is at one, sir.” Oliver stares at the blue waistcoat gloomily. “What's that?” “Ten minutes to one, sir. Lunch is at one, sir.” “Lunch?” “Yes, sir.” “Then I'd better get up, I suppose. Ow-_ooh!_” as he stretches. “Yes, sir. A bath, sir?” “Bath?” “Yes, sir.” “Oh, yes, bath. No--don't bother--I mean, I'll take it myself. You needn't watch me.” “Certainly _not_, sir. Thank you, sir. There have been several telephone calls for you, sir.” Oliver sighs--he is really awake now--it will be less trouble to get up than to try and go back to sleep. Besides, if he tries, that brass-buttoned automaton in front of him will probably start shaking him gently in its well-trained English way. “Telephone calls? Who telephone-called?” “The name was Crowe, sir. The lady who was calling said she would call again around lunch time. She said you were to be sure to wait until she called, sir.” “Oh, yes, certainly.” Politely, “And now I think I'll get up, if you don't mind?” “Oh, no, sir,” rather scandalizedly. “You are in need of nothing, sir?” Oliver thinks of replying, “Oh, just bring me a little more sleep if you have it in the house,” but then thinks better of it. “No, thanks.” “Very good, sir,” and the automaton pussyfoots away. Oliver still half asleep manages to rise and find slippers and a wrapper and then pads over to an empty bathroom where he disports himself like a whale. To his surprise he discovers himself whistling--true, the sunlight has an excellent shine to it this morning and the air and the sky outside seem blue and crisp with first fall--but even so. “Nancy,” he murmurs and frowns and finishes his bath rather gloomily--a gloom which is in no wise diminished when he goes downstairs to find everybody nearly through lunch and Ted and Elinor, as far away from each other at the table as possible, quite sure that they are behaving exactly as usual while the remnants of the house-party do their best to seem tactfully unconcerned.