“What’s the matter, Haddon?” demanded Miss Smellie, looking up with quick suspicion.
“Dam made a fathe at me,” whimpered the smitten one.
“Say ‘made a grimace’ not ‘made a face,’” corrected Miss Smellie. “Only God can make faces.”
Dam exploded.
“At what are you laughing, Damocles?” she asked sternly.
“Nothing, Miss Smellie. What you said sounded rather funny and a little irrevilent or is it irrembrant?”
“Damocles! Should I be likely to say anything Irreverent? Should I ever dream of Irreverence? What can you mean? And never let me see you make faces again.”
“I didn’t let you see me, Miss Smellie, and only God can make faces—”
“Leave the room at once, Sir, I shall report your impudence to your great-uncle,” hissed Miss Smellie, rising in wrath—and the bad abandoned boy had attained his object. Detention in the nursery for a Sunday afternoon was no part of his programme.
Most unobtrusively Lucille faded away also.