“Oh, Mr. Philpot resigned nearly three months ago,” said Mrs. Carey easily, giving Henry Lord, Ph.D., her first stab, and a look of amusement on her own behalf.  “Ralph Thurston, the present principal, is a fine, unusual fellow.”

“Really?  The children have never mentioned any change, but I regret to say I am absent-minded at meals.  The death of my wife left many gaps in the life of the household.”

“So that you have to be mother and father in one!” (Stab two:  very delicately delivered.)

“I fear I am too much of a student to be called a good family man.”

“So I gathered.” (Stab three.  She wanted to provoke curiosity.)

Mr. Lord looked annoyed.  He knew his unpopularity, and did not wish any village gossip to reach the ears of strangers.  “You, my dear madam, are capable of appreciating my devotion to my life work, which the neighbors naturally wholly misunderstand,” he said.

“I gathered nothing from the neighbors,” responded Mrs. Carey, “but a woman has only to know children well to see at a glance what they need.  You are so absorbed in authorship just now, that naturally it is a little hard for the young people; but I suppose there are breathing places, ’between books’?”

“There are no breathing places between mine; there will be six volumes, and I am scarcely half through the third, although I have given seven years to the work.  Still, I have an excellent housekeeper who attends to all our simple needs.  My children are not fitted for society.”

“No, not quite.” (Stab four).  “That is the reason they ought to see a good deal of it, but they are very fine children and very clever.”

“I am glad you think so, but they certainly write bad English and have no general knowledge whatsoever.”

“Oh, well, that will come, doubtless, when you have more time with them.” (Stab five.) “I often think such mysterious things as good speech and culture can never be learned in school.  I shouldn’t wonder if that were our department, Dr. Lord!” (Stab six.) “However, you will agree, modest parent as you are, that your Olive is a genius?”

“I have never observed it,” replied her father.  “I cannot, of course, allow her to practice on any musical instrument, because my studies demand quiet, but I don’t think she cares for music.”

“She draws and paints, however, in the most astonishing way, and she has a passionate energy, and concentration, and devotion to her work that I have never seen coupled with anything but an extraordinary talent.  She is destined to go very far, in my opinion.”

“Not too far, I hope,” remarked Mr. Lord, with an icy smile.  “Olive can paint on plush and china as much as she likes, but I am not partial to ‘careers’ for young women.”

“Nor am I; save when the gift is so commanding, so obvious, that it has to be reckoned with;—­but I must not delay my business any longer, nor keep you from your work.  We are having a housewarming this evening at seven.  Olive and Cyril are there now, helping in the preparations, and I want to know if they may stay to supper, and if you can send for them at half past nine or ten.”