'That's it,' said Henry. 'It was Sir George's room, you know.'
'She doesn't look as if she would be easily frightened,' said Aunt Annie. 'However—"seated at a large table littered with legal documents. He was evidently immersed in business, but he was so good as to place himself at my disposal for a few minutes. Mr. Knight is twenty-three years of age. His father was a silk-mercer in Oxford Street, and laid the foundation of the fortunes of the house now known as Duck and Peabody Limited."'
'That's very well put,' said Mrs. Knight.
'Yes, isn't it?' said Aunt Annie, and continued in her precise, even tones:
'"'What first gave you the idea of writing, Mr. Knight?' I inquired, plunging at once in medias res. Mr. Knight hesitated a few seconds, and then answered: 'I scarcely know. I owe a great deal to my late father. My father, although first and foremost a business man, was devoted to literature. He held that Shakspere, besides being our greatest poet, was the greatest moral teacher that England has ever produced. I was brought up on Shakspere,' said Mr. Knight, smiling. 'My father often sent communications to the leading London papers on subjects of topical interest, and one of my most precious possessions is a collection of these which he himself put into an album.'"'
Mrs. Knight removed her spectacles and wiped her eyes.
'"'With regard to Love in Babylon, the idea came to me—I cannot explain how. And I wrote it while I was recovering from a severe illness——'"'
'I didn't say "severe,"' Henry interjected. 'She's got that wrong.'
'But it was severe, dear,' said Aunt Annie, and once more continued: '"'I should never have written it had it not been for the sympathy and encouragement of my dear mother——'"'