"Perhaps I had better tell him first, young lady."
"I am his grandchild. It is all right. Let me pass."
She brushed the woman aside, and flew lightly up the stairs. She knocked at the door of the top attic, but followed her knock into the room before any one had made response from within.
Old Hart was, as usual, messing over some cooking. He stopped it when he saw Josephine, and an iron spoon which he held in his hand clattered noisily to the floor.
"Now, Nina, what is the matter?"
"I am going to spend the day with you, Granddad, and probably the night as well. You can give me a bed in a corner of this delightful sitting-room. Is that breakfast? I wish you would serve it up; I am starving."
"It's a very good breakfast, little Nina. Fried rabbit, done after a new method. Bacon and eggs to follow, with a sauce of port wine. Olives and sour claret for dessert. I know your taste, witch."
"I love olives," said Nina. "Sit at the table, Grand-dad, and let us begin. By the way, when did you shave last?"
"Ha—ha, who have I to shave for now, my pretty Nina? Nobody cares for the old man, nobody looks at him with eyes of admiration. Why should he waste his money and his time over the barbarous rite of shaving? Nature has her way with the old man now, sweet witch."
"Nature doesn't improve you, Grand-dad. You require the refining touches of art. Your beard is unkempt, your hair too long. You shall visit the barber after we have concluded our meal. It is distressing to mankind in general to behold a spectacle like you. You owe a duty to the world at large. You must visit the barber."