Sophy's face blazed. "How dare you speak in that voice of my father!" she cried. "He is the kindest and best, and works for me until he is quite thin and pale. Do you work for anybody? I don't think you do," she added scornfully, "you look too fat!"
"You haven't much respect for grey hairs, young lady."
"Grey hairs, why?" asked Sophy, still ruffled.
Mr. Waldron took refuge in platitudes.
"I have always been taught that the young should respect age, of which grey hair is an emblem."
"How funny!" said Sophy, leaning forward to look more closely at her companion. "To think of so much meaning in those tufts behind your ears! I always thought what was inside mattered—not the outside. How much silly people must long to have grey hairs, that they may be respected. I must ask father if that is true."
"I suppose you respect your father?" said Mr. Waldron severely.
"Oh, no," replied Sophy. "I only love him. I think the feeling I have for the gas man must be respect. Yes, I think it must be, there is something so disagreeable about it."
"Why?"
"Well, you see, he so often comes when father is out and asks for money, just as if money grew on our floor, then he looks at me and goes away grumbling. I think it must be respect I feel when I see his back going downstairs."