Smithson retired. And then Harold, who was engaged in a somewhat languid struggle with a French verb, looked up savagely, and said—
"I hate Mr. Bragg."
Wilfred, seated at the table with a big book before him, which was supposed to convey useful knowledge by means of coloured illustrations, immediately echoed—
"I hate Mr. Bragg."
"Hush, hush! That will never do!" said May. "Little boys musn't hate anybody. Besides, Mr. Bragg is a very good, kind man. Why should you dislike him?"
"Because he's going to take you away," answered Harold slowly.
"Nonsense! I dare say Mr. Bragg will not ask to see me at all. And if he does, I shall not be away above a few minutes."
"Shan't you?" asked Harold doubtfully.
"Of course not! What have you got into your head?"
"Yesterday, when they didn't think I was listening, I heard Smithson say to Cécile——"