“I've got this to finish.”
“It's a dirty old thing,” continued Jeremy, pursuing an argument, “and it'll be dirtier soon, and the Jampot says you do all the stitches wrong. I wish I was at school.”
“I wish you were,” said Helen.
There was a pause after this. Jeremy went sadly back to his window-seat. Mary felt that her moment had arrived. Sniffing, as was her habit when she wanted something very badly, she said in a voice that was little more than a whisper:
“It would be fun, wouldn't it, perhaps if I read something, Jeremy?”
Jeremy was a gentleman, although he was only eight. He looked at her and saw behind the spectacles eyes beseeching his permission.
“Well, it wouldn't be much fun,” he said, “but it's all beastly this afternoon, anyway.”
“Can I sit on the window too?” asked Mary.
“Not too close, because it tickles my ear, but you can if you like.”
She hurried across to the bookshelf. “There's 'Stumps' and 'Rags and Tatters,' and 'Engel the Fearless,' and 'Herr Baby' and 'Alice' and—”