Mary always hoped that Uncle Victor would notice her and say, "Mary is reading Locke On the Human Understanding," or that Mr. Propart would come and turn over the books and make some interesting remark. But they never did.
At half-past eight Catty would bring in the tea-tray; the white and grey and gold tea-cups would be set out round the bulging silver tea-pot that lifted up its spout with a foolish, pompous expression, like a hen. Mamma would move about the table in her mauve silk gown, and there would be a scent of cream and strong tea. Every now and then the shimmering silk and the rich scent would come between her and the grey, tight-pressed, difficult page.
"'The senses at first let in particular ideas and furnish the yet empty cabinet: and the mind growing by degrees familiar with some of them, they are lodged in the memory and names got to them.'
"Then how—Then how?—"
The thought she thought was coming wouldn't come, and Mamma was telling her to get up and hand round the bread and butter.
II.
"Mr. Ponsonby, do you remember your innate ideas?"
"My how much?" said Mr. Ponsonby.
"The ideas you had before you were born?"
Mr. Ponsonby said, "Before I was born? Well—" He really seemed to be considering it.