“Your father and mother,” said Mr. Fellowes coming over and standing so that he could watch both of the children, “have asked me to put a few simple questions to you.”
The countenances of Mr. and Mrs. Waring fell visibly, this informal, good-humoured, casual way of carrying on, was not the sort of thing they had expected.
“One should make a speciality of every form of knowledge, however trivial,” said Mr. Waring in a low voice, “we should have put ourselves in a position to be competent personally to conduct this affair.”
His wife looked comprehension, and clasped his hand a trifle harder.
No one but themselves and possibly their Creator had any idea of the amount this unfortunate couple had to endure.
“If I ask you anything,” went on the rector, “and you can’t answer it, you mustn’t mind, for as you just now heard from your father you are not expected to know anything definitely.”
Gwen looked up with a quick sarcastic question in her face.
Mr. Fellowes laughed. “You think in that case I had better hold my tongue; well, perhaps I had, but even if one gains no absolute knowledge of the question asked, from the answers to it, one sometimes finds out other things just as useful. In your classical readings you came across many allusions to the gods of Greece and Rome, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” they assented. “That wasn’t much of a poser,” reflected Dacre glibly.
“On the whole what did you think of them?”