Christina Alberta's father

by H. G. Wells

“Confess I feel tired,” said Mr. Preemby. “Had a long day of it.”

Christina Alberta regarded him with belated compunction. “It just happened like this,” she said.

“Not used to such late hours,” said Mr. Preemby, sitting on his bed when at last it was made, and he did a yawn that almost dislocated his jaw.

“Night,” said Fay, yawning also.

“We’ll turn in,” said Harold. “So long, Mr. Preemby.” The yawning seized upon Harold also. What a face he had!

“Goo-i.”

“Gawooi-i.”

The door closed upon them.

There was much to say to Christina Alberta, but it was too late and Mr. Preemby was too weary to say it now And also he had no idea what it was he ought to say.

A casual remark fell out, “I liked that man with the white hair,” he said.