‘Never mind, it will sound like English.’
It did so, for it was, ‘How many months old art thou, maiden?’
Val’s arithmetic was slightly scared. She clasped her hand nervously, and was indebted to the Professor for the sotto voce hint, ‘twelve nines,’ before she uttered ‘a hundred and eight.’
The Sphynx relapsed into stoniness, and the Herr Professor guided the hands, which trembled a little, to the interior of the mummy, whence they drew out a basket, labelled (wonderful to relate) ‘Val,’ and containing—oh! such treasures, a blue egg full of needlework implements, a new book, an Indian ivory case, a skipping-rope, a shuttlecock, and other delights past description. The exhibition of them was only beginning when the Professor called for Primrose, who was too much frightened to come alone, and therefore was permitted to be brought by Mrs. Halfpenny. The Sphynx was particularly amiable on this occasion, and only asked ‘When Primroses came?’ and as the little one, in her shy fright did not reply, nurse did so, with, ‘Come, missie, can’t you find a word to tell that mamma’s Primrose came in spring.’ This was allowed to pass, and Mrs. Halfpenny bore off her child, clutching a doll’s cradle, stuffed with pretty things, and for herself a bundle wrapped up in a shawl from Sir Jasper himself.
After Primrose was gone to bed, the Sphynx became much more ill-tempered and demonstrative, snarling considerably at the approach of some of the party, some of whom replied with convulsive laughter, some, such as Jasper, with demonstrations of ‘poking up the Sphynx.’ She had a question for everybody—Fly was asked, ‘Which was best, a tree or a Butterfly’s ball?’ and answered, with truthful politeness, that where Mysie and Val were was best of all. She carried off a collection that had hastily been made of Indian curiosities, photographs of her two friends, and a book; and her father, after being asked, ‘What was the best of insects?’ and replying, ‘On the whole, I think it is my housefly, even when she isn’t a butterfly,’ received a letter-weight of brass, fashioned like an enormous fly, which Lady Merrifield had snatched up from the table for the purpose. The maids giggled at the well-known conundrums proposed to them, and Dolores had a very easy question—’ What was the weather this day week?’
‘A horrid wet day,’ she promptly answered, and found herself endowed with a parcel containing some of the best presents of all, bangles from the Indian box, a beautiful pair of stork-like scissors, a writing-case, etc.
‘The Sphynx’s invention is running low,’ observed Jasper to Gillian, when the creature put the same question about last week’s weather to Herbert, the page-boy, as a prelude to his discovering the treasures of the mummy, as a knife and an umbrella. His view of the weather was that it was ‘A fine day ma’am! yes, a fine day.’
Macrae came last, and the Sphynx asked him which of the two contrary views was right.
‘It was fine, ma’am, that I know. For I walked down with nurse, and little Miss Primrose into Silverton, to help to carry her in case she was tired, and we never had occasion to put up an umbrella.’
Wherewith Macrae received his combination of gifts and retired; the mummy being completely rifled, and the construction of the body, a frame of light, open wicker-work, revealed. Aunt Jane had had it made at the basketmaker’s, while as to the head and covering, her own ingenious fingers had painted and fashioned them. Everybody had to look at everybody’s presents, a lengthened operation, and then there was a splendid game at blindman’s-buff in the hall, in which all the elders joined, except mamma, who had to go and sit in the nursery with the restless and excited Primrose while Mrs. Halfpenny and Lots went down to the servants’ festivity.