"Why can't you adopt an ancestor, as you can a child?" I asked again, turning back to her.
"Adopt an ancestor?"
Her voice was trembling with excitement, which was not brought about by the annoyance of my chatter, and as I saw that she was nodding her head vigorously, I calmed down at once and regretted my precipitate action, for the doctor had said that any unusual exertion or change of routine would end her.
"I only meant that I'd prefer these to grandfather and Uncle Lancelot," I explained soothingly, but her anxiety only increased.
"Which one?" she demanded in a squeaky voice which fairly bubbled with a "bully-for-you" sound. "Which one, Grace?"
"Him," I answered.
"They're all hims!" she screamed impatiently.
"I mean the artist."
At this she tried to struggle to her feet, then settled back in exhaustion and drew a deep breath.
"Come here! Come here quick!" she panted weakly.