"But it's a gloomy house, somehow. I think London's a gloomy place. But he's got a room—his own—quite different. You'd go cracked over it. Crammed with carved wood things, Indian, Japanese—ivory, too. And a jolly Grand— Hulloa, what's that?"
A sepulchral whisper came floating up the stairs.
"Are you children not in bed yet?"
He went out on to the landing.
"Just off, Aunt Kezia. Let me carry your candle for you."
"I can carry it myself, thank you. You ought to be in bed and asleep at this time of night."
"Me isn't s'eepy, auntie, weally," he lisped, and Miss Kezia almost relaxed into a smile.
"Nell," he said, returning to his room, "you're to go to bed at once—a baby like you!"
"Oh, oh, have you been talking to her like that?"
"Like what?"