"Maybe I shall—when I get him—er—trained," retorted Betty, flashing a merry glance into her mother's dismayed eyes. "Don't worry, dear. I was a perfect angel to him to-day. Truly I was. Listen! After luncheon Mr. Denby brought me three or four newspapers which he had marked here and there; and for an hour then I read to him. And what do you think?—when I had finished he said, in that crisp short way of his: 'You have a good voice, Miss Darling. I hope you won't mind if I ask you to read to me often.' And of course I smiled and said no, indeed, I should be glad to read as often as he liked."
"Of course!" beamed the mother, with so decided an emphasis that Betty exclaimed warningly:—
"Tut, tut, now! Don't you go to tumbling down and worshiping him like all the rest."
"W-worshiping him!" Helen Denby's cheeks were scarlet.
"Yes," nodded Betty, with tranquil superiority. "It isn't good for him, I tell you. He doesn't get anything but worship from every single one of those people around him. Honestly, if he should declare that the earth was flat, I think that ridiculous old butler and that scared cousin housekeeper would bow: 'Just as you say, sir, just as you say.' Humph! He'd better tell me the world is flat, some day."
"Oh, Betty! Betty!" implored Betty's mother.
But Betty only went on with a merry toss of her head:—
"Well, after the reading there were other letters, then some work on a card-index record of his correspondence. After that I came home. But, mother, oh, mother, only think what it'll be when we begin to catalogue all those treasures in his cabinets. And we're going to do it. He said we were. It seems as if I just couldn't wait!"
"But you will be careful what you say to him, dear," begged the mother again, anxiously. "He wouldn't understand your mischief, dear, and I—I'm sure he wouldn't like it."
Betty stooped to give a playful kiss.