“Come in, Miss Moore; make yourself at home,” said Hermione.
“Thank you so much,” said Augusta, “but I couldn’t come in.”
“And why not?” asked Hermione.
“Because he is talking—he is lecturing downstairs. We are all listening.—I thought it would be such a frightful deprivation for you, Dumps, not to hear him. I rushed upstairs; he was blowing his nose—I think he has a cold. I must go back at once. Do come down, if you don’t want to miss it. It’s about the time of Herodotus; it’s most fascinating—fascinating!” She banged the door after her and rushed away.
“Is that poor girl mad?” said Hermione slowly.
“I think so,” I answered. “She has conceived a violent worshipping attachment to father. She thinks he is the soul of genius.”
“Well, he is, you know. You, as his daughter, can really hold a most distinguished position; and now that you have got such a step-mother as Miss Donnithorne, and you yourself are to be sent to—oh, I forgot, that subject is taboo. Well, never mind; when you come out you will have quite a good time, Dumps, I can tell you. Your step-mother means to do the right thing both by you and the boys. You will have a splendid time, so just do cheer up and be thankful for the blessings which Providence has showered upon your head.”