"Well, as far as the shoelaces are concerned, perhaps it'll teach Lister to keep his tied. And Scott doesn't have a den; he has a neat, dustless resting-place from terror by day and tempest by night. Tell them it's my den. Does your mother know?"
"Of course."
After this there was a little silence. Dr. Green looked at the floor.
"No one else, I suppose?"
"Richard Lister knows." Eleanor believed that she had succeeded in saying the name naturally and easily.
"Richard Lister! How does he come to know?"
"He has been playing duets with me. I—I just happened to tell him."
"Richard is such a nice, sleek, silky mother's boy! I expect he'll be a preacher. Did you read him the story?"
"No. Of course not. I wouldn't read it to any one. I only told him it had been accepted."
"What are you going to do next?" Dr. Green rose and began to walk up and down. He seemed possessed by a sort of rage. "Are you going to sit here and wait for some one to say, 'Eleanor, be mine!' meanwhile making tatting or lambrequins with String, or are you going to improve your mind and amount to something? You haven't done anything yet, you know! You do know that, don't you?"