“Dominoes, as you say, isn’t exactly a field sport,” sympathetically agreed Bertha.
“Quite so, dear. But, however, that was his favourite game. Then, did I say just now he was fond of music? He didn’t care for the kind that Percy likes, but he would rarely send a piano-organ away, and he even encouraged the German bands. How fond he was of books too—and reading, and that sort of thing! Percy gets his fondness for books from his father. Clifford too is fond of books.”
“He is indeed,” said Bertha; “he’s devoted to books. Last time I went to see him, when he was at home for the holidays, I found among his books a nice copy of ‘The New Arabian Nights.’ We hadn’t one in the house at the time, and I asked him to lend it to me.”
“Did you indeed?”
Lady Kellynch looked a shade surprised, as if it had been rather a liberty.
“Well,” said Bertha, laughing, and turning to Madeline, “what do you think he said? ‘Bertha, I’m awfully sorry, but I make it a rule never to lend books. I don’t approve of it—half the time they don’t come back, and in fact—oh, I don’t think it’s a good plan. I never do it.’ I took up the book and found written in it: ‘To Bertha, with love from Percy.’ I said: ‘So you don’t approve of lending books. Do you see this is my book?’ He looked at it and said solemnly: ‘Yes, so it is, but I can’t let you have it. I’m in the middle of it. Besides—oh! anyhow, I want it!’”
Madeline and Bertha both laughed, saying that Clifford was really magnificent for twelve years old.
Lady Kellynch seemed astonished at their amusement. She only said: “Oh yes; I know Clifford’s most particular about his books.”
“And even about my books,” said Bertha.
“Quite so, dear. They say in his report that he’s getting so orderly. It’s a very good report this term—er—at least, very good on the whole.”