"I think it was, father."
"No doubt you'll outgrow it."
"Do you think so?"
"I haven't a doubt of it, little daughter."
"I have."
Mr. Delancy dropped his monocle and looked at the fire. The fire was all right.
"Do you—do you suppose that Jim is—does—thinks—knows——"
"I never speculate on what Jim is, does, thinks, or knows," said her father, thoughtfully, stirring the embers and spoiling a perfectly good fire. When he looked up again she had gone.
"One theory smashed!" observed Mr. Delancy. "I'll try another, with separation as the main ingredient."