Mrs. Wilson had a case against her husband, if not a strong one. His ideas of the duties of a male parent were that he might incur paternity of an indefinite number of sons and daughters, and discharge all his obligations to them by providing their food and education. Having paid quittance, he was at liberty to be absorbed in his books. Had his payments been large enough to make his wife's administration of the household easy, he might have been justified, especially as she, for her part, was not disposed to allow him any voice in any matter. Nevertheless, she castigated him frightfully at intervals for not exercising an authority she was not prepared to permit. He was nothing but a ninepin, set up to be knocked down, an Aunt Sally who was never allowed to keep her pipe in her mouth for ten consecutive seconds. The natural consequence of which was that his children despised him, but to a certain extent loved him; while, on the other hand, they somewhat disliked their mother, but (to a certain extent) respected her. It is very hard on the historian and the dramatist that every one is not quite good or quite bad. It would make their work so much easier. But it would not be nearly so interesting, especially in the case of the last-named. The Professor may have had some feeling on these lines when he stopped the skirts from rustling out of the apartment by a change in his manner. "Tell me seriously what you wish me to do, Roberta." "I wish you to give attention, if not to the affairs--_that_ I cannot expect--of your household, at least to this--you may call it foolish and pooh-pooh it--business of Laetitia and this young man--I really cannot say young gentleman, for it is mere equivocation not to call him a haberdasher." The Professor resisted the temptation to criticize some points of literary structure, and accepted the obvious meaning of this. "Tell me what he really is." "I have told you repeatedly. He is nothing--unless we palter with the meaning of words--but a clerk in the office at the stores where we pay a deposit and order goods on a form. They were originally haberdashers, so I don't see how you can escape from what I have said. But I have no doubt you will try to do so." "How comes he to be such a magnificent violinist? Are they all...?" "I know what you are going to say, and it's foolish. No, they are not all magnificent violinists. But you know the story quite well." "Perhaps I do. But now listen. I want to make out one thing. This young man talked quite freely to me and Egerton about his place, his position, salary--everything. And yet you say he isn't a gentleman." "Of course he isn't a gentleman. I don't the least understand what you mean. It's some prevarication or paradox." Mrs. Wilson taps the chair-arm impatiently. "I mean this--if he isn't a gentleman, how comes it that he isn't ashamed of being a haberdasher? Because he _isn't_. Seemed to take it all as a matter of course."