Helen was not interested in the flight of birds, and still less in its possible application to affairs of mercantile profit, or of national power. She interrupted them at a tense and interesting turn, and neither the man nor the boy resented it.
“What have you been doing?” she demanded of her father.
“Reading ‘David Copperfield’ until Grant came.”
“Is it a nice book?”
“Yes—very.”
“Is it a story book?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll let you read me some, and see if I like it.”
Bransby pointed to the volume, and Stephen brought it to him, still open at the passage he had been reading when his clerk had interrupted him.
“Shall I begin at the beginning?”