"Well, you might have said a worse thing than that," he told her sadly.
"I mean—I—"
"She did say it," cried the twins. "'I'm sleepy.' Just like that."
"Oh, Connie's the girl for sentiment," exclaimed Lark. "Sleepy is not a romantic word and it's not a sentimental feeling, but it can be drawled out so it sounds a little mushy at least. 'I sleep, my love, to dream of thee,'—for instance. But Connie didn't do it that way. Nix. Just plain sleep, and it sounded like 'Get out, and have a little sense.'"
"Well, it would make you sick," declared Connie, wrinkling up her nose to express her disgust. "Are boys always like that father?"
"Don't ask me," he hedged promptly. "How should I know?"
"Oh, Connie, how can you! There's father—now, he never cared to kiss the girls even in his bad and balmy days, did you, daddy? Oh, no, father was all for the strictly orthodox even in his youth!"
Mr. Starr returned precipitately to his mail, and the twins calmly resumed the discussion where it had been interrupted.
A little later a quick exclamation from their father made them turn to him inquiringly.
"It's a shame," he said, and again: "What a shame!"