“From the clouds, my dear brother, right down to this present prosaic and workaday world. Can you, and will you give me five minutes of your attention?”
“Eh? Yes, of course, Sophia.”
Mr. Dale sat very still, drumming with his right hand on his pad of blotting-paper. Miss Tredgold looked at him; then she crossed the room, took away the pad, his pen and ink, the open volume of Homer, and removed them to another table.
“Sit with your back to them; keep your mind clear and listen to me, Henry.”
“To be sure.”
“I want you to come into the schoolroom after breakfast to-morrow morning.”
“To the schoolroom?”
“I have a reason. I should like you to be present.”
“But it is just my most important hour. You commence lessons with the girls—when, Sophia?”
“We sit down to our work at nine o’clock. Prayers take ten minutes. I should like you to be present at prayers—to conduct Divine worship in your own house on that occasion.”