“Ye-es,” the girl came to life enough to reply absently. Dr. Morton turned to his wife with a triumphant grin.
“Now, do you see why she didn’t answer? She is several thousand miles and some hundreds of years away, and she can’t get back in a hurry–blest be the concentration of childhood!”
“What is it she’s reading?”
“Kennilworth. Amy Robsart is probably waiting for Leicester at this identical moment. Why return to prosaic errands and eggs when you can revel in a world of romance so easily?”
15“Father, you will ruin that child with your indulgence!”
Mrs. Morton walked deliberately across the room and removed the book from her daughter’s hands.
Jane came to herself with a start.
“Why, Mother!”
“How many times have I told you, little daughter, that there is to be no novel-reading until your work and your practising are both done? Here I have been calling you for several minutes and you don’t heed any more than if you were miles away. I shall put this book away till evening. Come, I want you to go over to Benton’s and get me four dozen eggs.”
Jane got up inwardly protesting, and in so doing, tumbled the two surprised and grumbling pups upon the floor. She didn’t mind doing the errand. She was unusually willing to be helpful though often very heedless about noticing that help was needed.