"Oho!" said Emmy. "What do you mean?" "Nothing, dear." "Look here, Emmy," said Zora, half laughing, half angry. "If you say or think such a thing I'll--I'll slap you. Mr. Sypher and I are friends. He hasn't the remotest idea of our being anything else. If he had, I would never speak to him again as long as I live." Emmy whistled a comedy air, and drummed on the window-pane. "He's a very remarkable man," said Zora. "A most superior person," mimicked Emmy. "And I don't think it's very good taste in us to discuss him in this manner." "But, my dear," said Emmy, "it's you that are discussing him. I'm not. The only remark I made about him was a quotation from mother." "I'm going up to dress for dinner," said Zora. She was just a little indignant. Only into Emmy's fluffy head could so preposterous an idea have entered. Clem Sypher in love with her? If so, why not Septimus Dix? The thing thus reduced itself to an absurdity. She laughed to herself, half ashamed of having allowed Emmy to see that she took her child's foolishness seriously, and came down to dinner serene and indulgent. CHAPTER VII "Are you going to have your bath first, or your breakfast?" asked Wiggleswick, putting his untidy gray head inside the sitting-room door. Septimus ran his ivory rule nervously through his hair. "I don't know. Which would you advise?" "What?" bawled Wiggleswick. Septimus repeated his remark in a louder voice. "If I had to wash myself in cold water," said Wiggleswick contemptuously, "I'd do it on an empty stomach." "But if the water were warm?" "Well, the water ain't warm, so it's no good speculating." "Dear me," said Septimus. "Now that's just what I enjoy doing." Wiggleswick grunted. "I'll turn on the tap and leave it." The door having closed behind his body servant, Septimus laid his ivory rule on the portion of the complicated diagram of machinery which he had been measuring off, and soon became absorbed in his task. It was four o'clock in the afternoon. He had but lately risen, and sat in pyjamas and dressing-gown over his drawing. A bundle of proofs and a jam-pot containing a dissipated looking rosebud lay on that space of the table not occupied by the double-elephant sheet of paper. By his side was a manuscript covered with calculations to which he referred or added from time to time. A bleak November light came in through the window, and Septimus's chair was on the right-hand side of the table. It was characteristic of him to sit unnecessarily in his own light. Presently a more than normal darkening of the room caused him to look at the window. Clem Sypher stood outside, gazing at him with amused curiosity. Hospitably, Septimus rose and flung the casement window open. "Do come in." As the aperture was two feet square, all of Clem Sypher that could respond to the invitation was his head and shoulders. "Is it good morning, good afternoon, or good night?" he asked, surveying Septimus's attire.