"She can hear all that I say to her," replied the Archdeacon.
"Ah! but you probably raise your voice, and she is accustomed to it. Could she hear a stranger? Could she hear me?"
Remembering the tone of some of his after-lunch conversations I suggested that perhaps it would be well if on occasions she could not. He glowered down such frivolousness and proceeded with his cross-examination. "Are you trying to assure us that your mother is not in the least bit deaf?"
"Well," the Archdeacon conceded, "I could not go so far as to say that her hearing is still perfect."
The layman smiled his satisfaction. "In other words," he said, "she uses a trumpet?"
The Archdeacon was silent.
"She uses a trumpet, Sir? Admit it."
"Now and then," said the Archdeacon, "my dear mother has recourse to that aid."
"I knew it!" exclaimed the other. "My mother can hear every word. She goes to the theatre too. Now your mother would have to go to the cinema if she wished to be entertained."
"My mother," said the Archdeacon, "would not be interested in the cinema" (he pronounced it ki-nēma); "her mind is of a more serious turn."