I did not understand what she meant, but then I did not want to understand. I was happy; I was having a good time. I liked her better each moment.
We got back to the little cottage in time for tea, which we had cosily in the sitting-room with the stuffed birds and animals.
After tea Miss Donnithorne showed me some of her treasures—vast collections of shells, which she had been gathering in different parts of the world ever since she was a small child. I was fascinated by them; she told me that I might help to arrange them for her, and I spent a very blissful time in this fashion until it was time for supper. Supper was a simple meal, which consisted of milk and bread-and-butter and different sorts of stewed fruit.
“I don’t approve of late dinners,” said Miss Donnithorne. “That is,” she added, “not for myself. Now, Dumps, do tell me what sort of meal the Professor eats before he goes to bed at night.”
“Oh, anything that is handy,” I answered.
“But doesn’t he have a good nourishing meal, the sort to sustain a brain like his?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “Hannah sees to it.”
“But don’t you?” said Miss Donnithorne, looking rather severe, and the laugh going out of her eyes. “Don’t you attend to your father’s wants?”
“As much as I can, Miss Donnithorne. You see, I am still supposed to be nothing but a child, and Hannah has the management of things.”
“You are supposed to be nothing but a child?” said Miss Donnithorne, and she looked me all up and down.