"What is the matter?" demanded the professorial tones.
"Oh, nothing," she said, winking back the tears and trying to smile, apologetically—"just silly reasons. I—I've spent an hour and ten minutes on a problem here, and it won't come right. I'm—sorry I disturbed you."
There was a brief silence. Mr. Queed cleared his throat.
"You cannot solve your problem?"
"I haven't yet," she sniffed bravely, "but of course I will soon. Oh, I understand it very well...."
She kept her eyes stoutly fixed upon her book, which indicated that not for worlds would she interrupt him further. Nevertheless she felt his large spectacles upon her. And presently he astonished her by saying, resignedly—doubtless he had decided that thus could the virginal calm be most surely and swiftly restored:—
"Bring me your book. I will solve your problem."
"Oh!" said Fifi, choking down a cough. And then, "Do you know all about algebra, too?"
It seemed that Mr. Queed in his younger days had once made quite a specialty of mathematics, both lower, like Fifi's, and also far higher. The child's polite demurs were firmly overridden. Soon she was established in a chair at his side, the book open on the table between them.
"Indicate the problem," said Mr. Queed.