"What sort of stuff is 'hibernation'?" she demanded suddenly.
"Hibernation!" I exclaimed.
"Yes. They found a patch of it on a bone that was discovered in a pond at St. Mary Cray, and a similar patch on one that was found at some other place in Essex. Now, I want to know what 'hibernation' is."
"You must mean 'eburnation,'" I said, after a moment's reflection.
"The newspapers say 'hibernation,' and I suppose they know what they are talking about. If you don't know what it is, don't be ashamed to say so."
"Well, then, I don't."
"In that case you had better read the papers and find out," she said, a little illogically. And then: "Are you fond of murders? I am, awfully."
"What a shocking little ghoul you must be!" I exclaimed.
She stuck out her chin at me. "I'll trouble you," she said, "to be a little more respectful in your language. Do you realize that I am old enough to be your mother?"
"Impossible!" I ejaculated.