smiling at Katharine, with the worried humorous smile of the elder sister whose younger brothers and sisters have become almost like children of her own.
“Joan, you don’t really think that amo is Greek?” Ralph asked.
“Did I say Greek? Well, never mind. No dead languages at tea-time. My dear boy, don’t trouble to make me any toast———”
“Or if you do, surely there’s the toasting-fork somewhere?” said Mrs. Denham, still cherishing the belief that the bread-knife could be spoilt. “Do one of you ring and ask for one,” she said, without any conviction that she would be obeyed. “But is Ann coming to be with Uncle Joseph?” she continued. “If so, surely they had better send Amy to us———” and in the mysterious delight of learning further details of these arrangements, and suggesting more sensible plans of her own, which, from the aggrieved way in which she spoke, she did not seem to expect any one to adopt, Mrs. Denham completely forgot the presence of a well-dressed visitor, who had to be informed about the amenities of Highgate. As soon as Joan had taken her seat, an argument had sprung up on either side of Katharine, as to whether the Salvation Army has any right to play hymns at street corners on Sunday mornings, thereby making it impossible for James to have his sleep out, and tampering with the rights of individual liberty.
“You see, James likes to lie in bed and sleep like a hog,” said Johnnie, explaining himself to Katharine, whereupon James fired up and, making her his goal, also exclaimed:
“Because Sundays are my one chance in the week of having my sleep out. Johnie messes with stinking chemicals in the pantry———”
They appealed to her, and she forgot her cake and began to laugh and talk and argue with sudden animation.
