"There are two hundred girls at your school. Which special one do you now allude to?" "Her name is Augusta Moore. She has a love for books, somewhat as you have a love for books." The Professor raised one hand. "I beseech of you, Dumps," he said, "don't speak of any girl's immature admiration for the great works of the mighty dead. Don't! Your words will get on my nerves." "Well, I won't; but she wants to learn, and I suppose she has a right to," I said in a somewhat dogged tone. "She has begged of me to ask you to give her two tickets for next Wednesday when you are lecturing at the Royal Society. She wants two, for she would not be allowed to go alone." For answer my father stalked across the room. He crossed the wide hall and entered his own study, a room he seldom used, for he did most of his home work in his bedroom. He came back presently with a couple of tickets and threw them on the table. "There," he said; "don't say anything more about her. Don't worry me on the subject. Good-bye, my little girl." He stooped and kissed me; his kiss was more affectionate than usual. "Be a good girl, Dumps. What I do I do for my children's sake." "Of course, father;" I said, touched by the feeling which seemed to be in the kiss he had just bestowed upon me. "By the way, Dumps, I gave you that picture of your mother?" "Oh yes, father; but I have not looked at it yet." "It is a good likeness," he said. "She was a pretty woman, and a good wife to me; I never forget that. I don't forget it now. Good-bye, Dumps." "You will write, father?" "Yes, yes; anyhow you will hear. Good-bye, child; good-bye." I followed him into the hall. There was a neat little Gladstone bag on a chair. It really was brand-new, and it had his initials on it. "Why," I said, taking it up in my hand, "this is exactly the same sort of bag as my trunk--I mean it is such very new-looking leather. How pretty! When did you get it?" "Don't be inquisitive, child. Is it new? Upon my word! Well, that's all right. Good-bye, good-bye, Dumps." He snatched up the bag and went out, banging the hall door. I went straight back to the parlour and pulled the bell. I pulled it twice in desperation. There was no response of any sort. "Hannah gets worse and worse," I thought. I was ravenously hungry. There was not a scrap of preparation for a meal on the table, only the glass out of which father had drunk his accustomed quantity of beer, and the bone of the mutton-chop, and a small piece of bread. Hannah was certainly in her deafest and worst humour, and the cotton-wool was sticking firmly into her right ear. I ran downstairs. I entered the kitchen. "Sakes!" said Hannah. I went close to her and dexterously put out my hand and removed the cotton-wool from her ear. "Miss Dumps, how dare you?" "I want my dinner," I said. "Sakes! What with frying chops for the Professor, and him going off in a hurry, why, my head is in a moil."