“They are very alarming, these thunderstorms,” he said, helping himself to porridge. “Don’t you think so? Or are you above being frightened?”
“No. I always go to bed in a storm. One is so much safer lying down.”
“Why?”
“Because,” said Jenny, making a descriptive gesture, “because lightning goes downwards and not flat ways. When you’re lying down you’re out of the current.”
“That’s very ingenious.”
“It’s true.”
There was a silence. Denis finished his porridge and helped himself to bacon. For lack of anything better to say, and because Mr. Scogan’s absurd phrase was for some reason running in his head, he turned to Jenny and asked:
“Do you consider yourself a femme superieure?” He had to repeat the question several times before Jenny got the hang of it.
“No,” she said, rather indignantly, when at last she heard what Denis was saying. “Certainly not. Has anyone been suggesting that I am?”
“No,” said Denis. “Mr. Scogan told Mary she was one.”