"Mr. Ponsonby, do you remember your innate ideas?"
"My _how_ much?" said Mr. Ponsonby.
"The ideas you had before you were born?"
Mr. Ponsonby said, "Before I was born? Well--" He really seemed to be
considering it.
Mamma's chair, pushed further along the hearthrug, had driven her back
and back, till the box was hidden behind the curtain.
Mr. Ponsonby was Mark's friend. Mark was at the Royal Military Academy at
Woolwich now. Every Saturday Mr. Ponsonby came home with Mark and stayed
till Sunday evening. You knew that sooner or later he would find you out
behind Mamma's chair.
"I mean," she said, "the ideas you were born with."
"Seems to me," said Mr. Ponsonby, "I was born with precious few. Anyhow I
can't say I remember them."
"I was afraid you'd say that. It's what Mr. Locke says."
"Mr. how much?"
"Mr. Locke. You can look at him if you like."