"Here! It's up in that corner, my dear," said Mr. Earlforward.
"Yes, I know. I'm just going to get the steps."
"Where are they? They ought to be here."
"I don't know. Elsie must have had them for her windows, and forgotten to bring them back."
"Tut, tut!" Mr. Earlforward blandly expostulated.
"Shakspere's been having considerable success in my house," Dr. Raste went on, when the two men were alone, with an arch smile at his own phrasing. "You'd scarcely believe it, but my little daughter simply devours him. And as it's her birthday next week I thought I'd give her my Globe edition for herself, and get another one with a wee bit larger type for myself. My eyes aren't what they were.... Simply devours him! Scarcely believe it, would you?" The doctor was growing human. His eyes sparkled with ingenuous paternal pride. Then he checked himself.
"I notice your old clock isn't going," said he, in a more conventional, a conversation-making tone, and glanced at his wrist.
"No," Mr. Earlforward quietly admitted, thinking: "What's it got to do with you—my 'old clock' not going?" The clock had not gone for months.
Violet, who had further illuminated the shop as she passed out, was rather long in returning, partly because she had had to hunt for the steps, and partly because she had popped into the bedroom to see that it was in order. Dr. Raste gallantly took the volumes from her as she stood half-way up the steps.
"Fifteen volumes—that's right," said Mr. Earlforward. "I told you there were eight, didn't I?"