Part 1, Chapter VII.
A Surprise Tea.
We were a little late after all, for the Professor was standing on the steps. It does seem so ridiculous to call your own father the Professor, but after all I had heard of him that day I really felt that I could not even think of him under any other title. He was dressed just as carelessly and with as little regard to outward appearances as though he had been giving a lecture to the Sixth Form boys in the college. His hair was rumpled and pushed back from his lofty forehead. His eyes had that somewhat vacant stare which, notwithstanding his genius, I could not help constantly noticing in them. His adorers—and it struck me that the Professor had many adorers—called that his “far-away” or his “abstracted” or his “marvellous thinking” look, but to me it seemed that it was his vacant look. But there! it was very wrong of me to think such a thing about father.
“He has come,” said Miss Donnithorne. “Rachel, your father is here. I am more vexed than I can say not to have been ready to welcome him. I hope Nancy saw to his comfort. Jump out, child, and run up the path. Be the first to greet him. I will follow you immediately.”
I was almost pushed by Miss Donnithorne out of the carriage, and I ran up the little path which led to Hedgerow House. I felt that Miss Donnithorne and Hermione were following me a few steps behind. I wondered if father would notice the dark-blue dress and the grey fur. If he did he would be sure to say something which would let the cat out of the bag—something which would lower me for ever in the eyes of Hermione. As I had not chosen to tell Hermione at the time that Miss Donnithorne had requested me to wear the dress that day, I should dislike beyond anything to have father blazoning the whole secret abroad. But he did nothing of the kind; he merely said, “Well, Dumps, you look flourishing.”
He held out his hand and gave me the tips of his fingers. Then he shook hands with Miss Donnithorne, and Miss Donnithorne presented Hermione to him. I observed that Miss Donnithorne’s cheeks were brighter than their wont. She began to speak in a very apologetic way, but father cut her short.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said; “pray don’t apologise.” They both went into the house, and it seemed to me that they forgot all about Hermione and me as completely as though we did not exist.
“How queer!” I could not help saying.