"Or bound up Boys Own Papers?"
John shook his head.
"But I'll tell you what I have got," he added with a sudden inspiration. "Kingsley's Heroes."
"Is that a pi book?" asked Bertram, suspiciously.
"Not at all. It's about Greek gods and goddesses, essentially broad-minded divinities."
"Right-o. I'll have a squint at it, if you like," Bertram volunteered. "Come on, V, don't start showing off your rotten dancing. Come and look at this book. It's got some spiffing pictures."
"Lunch won't be very long," John announced in order to propitiate any impatience at what they might consider the boring entertainment he was offering.
Presently the two children left their uncle alone, and he observed with pride that they took with them the book. He little thought that so mild a dose of romance as could be extracted from Kingsley's Heroes would before the twilight of that November day run through 36 Church Row like fire. But then John did not know that there was a calf's head for dinner that night; he had not realized the scenic capacity of the cistern cupboard at the top of the house; and most of all he had not associated with dressing up on Sunday afternoon the histrionic force that Bertram and Viola inherited from their mother.
"Is it Androméda or Andrómeda?" Bertram asked at lunch.
"Andrómeda, my boy," John answered. "Perseus and Andromeda."