"Who, Miss Donnithorne?"
"Your father, my dear."
"Not always," I answered.
She gave a sigh of profound thankfulness.
"But does he at most times?"
"Most times he is silent," I said, "and we are all silent too. It's the
rule at home for none of us to speak when the Professor is eating. If
he likes he speaks, but none of us does."
"What do you mean by `none of us'?"
"The boys and I. We sit very still. It isn't difficult for me, because
I am accustomed to it; but Alex--he sometimes moves his legs, for they
are so long. Father is annoyed then. Father suffers from headache."
"No wonder, with such a brain. His learning is colossal!"
"It is," I said wearily.
"You admire him very much, don't you, Dumps?"
"Naturally, because he is my father." But then I added, "I only wish he
wasn't so learned. I hate learning, you know. I never mean to be
learned."
Miss Donnithorne laughed, and her favourite expression, "Bless the
child!" burst from her lips.