“Well, you must wake up and get me there in some sort of fashion,” I said, “for I cannot possibly guide myself when I don’t know where you live.”
Thus adjured, and by dint of constant pokes, and even pinches, I did manage to take Augusta to her own home. There was a lift which would take us to her mother’s flat at the top of the great house; but she was a quarter way up the stairs before I was able to remind her of the fact. She then said it didn’t matter, and began to quote from The Ancient Mariner, saying the words aloud. People looked at her as they came downstairs. One lady said, “How do you do, Miss Moore?” but Augusta did not make any reply.
At last we arrived at the very top of the house, and as there were no more stairs of any sort to go up, we had to pause here.
“Now, which door are we to knock at?” I said. Augusta pointed to one.
“We’re awfully late,” she said. “Mother will be terrible I shall go into my own room until she subsides. You won’t mind listening to her; you will probably agree with her. You are fearfully commonplace yourself. Two commonplaces together make—oh! I ought to be able to say something very smart and witty on that subject, but I can’t. I am going to cultivate smart sayings. I believe it is possible to cultivate them. The spirit of repartee can be produced with care. I have read about it; it is possible. A person who can make good repartees is much appreciated, don’t you know?”
“Oh yes, yes; but do knock at the door, or let me.” She approached the door, but before she could raise her hand to ring the bell she turned to me again.
“What is the subject of your father’s next lecture?”
“I’m sure I don’t know from Adam,” I replied.
“What a vulgar way of expressing it! How terrible to think you are his child!”
“Augusta,” I said, “there is one thing that puzzles me. I am the Professor’s child, and doubtless I am commonplace; but I am glad of it, for I wouldn’t be like you for all the world.”