me here! I am not your chattel!"
"Be silent, Lucinda! I've had quite enough of your hysterics."
She stormed to the door, almost colliding with a young woman dressed in gray. The girl stepped quickly aside, bobbing her head. Lucinda ignored her.
She turned back to stare at her husband. "You will have cause to remember this conversation, Sigmund." Then she swept past the girl, who sidled into the room and stood demurely until Sigmund Galworthy noticed her.
He sighed and lowered the newspaper. "What is it, Hannah?"
"It's Miss Dorothy, sir."
"What's wrong?"
"She won't eat her dinner, sir."
"My dear Hannah!" He came to stand beside her. "We have enough trouble just now without having to worry about whether Dorothy cleans her plate or not. Don't take it upon yourself." He turned away, dismissing her.
"Oh, but Mr. Galworthy!" Hannah boldly remained before him, and Sigmund turned back in surprise.
"Excuse me, but Mrs. Galworthy ordered me to make Miss Dorothy eat every last bit. Including the tomatoes, sir, and you know Miss Dorothy can't eat tomatoes. You know how sick she gets whenever she eats them ... and I've tried, sir. I've been trying to get her to eat for the last hour, but she just can't."
"Look here, Hannah. Your job is to take care of Dorothy and so save me from scenes over tomatoes. Now go up and calm the child, and throw the damnâexcuse meâthrow the tomatoes in the garbage. Forget it. I don't want to hear any more about it."
"Oh, thank you, sir," cried Hannah with great relief, bobbing up and down respectfully. "But what about Mrs. Galworthy? She said earlier that the child was to clean her whole plate."
"My wife knows perfectly well that Dorothy can't stomach tomatoes. I will speak to her, Hannah." He removed a pipe from his vest pocket and polished its smooth bowl against his gray-trousered hip. "Now, unless there's something else you would like to discuss with me..."
"No, sir, thank you very much." She bobbed herself out of the room.
Miranda watched for a few more minutes, hoping something else would happen. Sigmund returned to his armchair in front of the fire. A small shower of sparks flew up the chimney. He stoked his pipe. Miranda had just started to turn away, not liking the strong odor of his pipe, when Dorothy appeared in the doorway.
She wore a long white flannel nightgown and her hair was tied back tightly in two long braids. She crept quietly over to Sigmund's chair and paused behind it. He sat once again gazing dreamily into the fire, puffing his pipe. Her small hands darted around and covered his eyes. "Guess who?" she said in a gruff voice.
"Oh my," said Sigmund mildly. "Is it Mr. Beecham from the office?"
Dorothy giggled, then quickly resumed the gruff tone. "No! Guess again."
"Is it Mrs. Hooton?"
"She doesn't have a voice like this!"
"
Mr.
Hooton, then?"
"No!"
"I shall never guess," moaned her father, and he reached his big hands over his head and down to close around her little body. He held her around the waist and hoisted her off the floor, tumbling her head-over-heels through the air above his head and down into his lap. Her laughter filled the room.
"Aha! Now I see it is only my little mouse."
Dorothy nestled against his chest. "I've come to say good night."
"I'm glad." He stroked the top of her head and fingered one of the long braids. "Do you know what the train conductor says when he blows the whistle?"
"What?"
"He says, 'Whooo-whooo!'" whistled Sigmund Galworthy, tugging on the braid as if pulling the chain on a train whistle.
They were still laughing together when Lucinda stalked into the room. "Dorothy! Hannah is looking for you! Get back upstairs and finish those tomatoes. And if you can't finish them before bedtime, you will see them in the morning for your breakfast."
Sigmund Galworthy set Dorothy back on her feet. "Dorothy will have an egg for breakfast," he said. "You know she can't eat tomatoes, Lucinda."
"The child must learn to eat what is set
"Be silent, Lucinda! I've had quite enough of your hysterics."
She stormed to the door, almost colliding with a young woman dressed in gray. The girl stepped quickly aside, bobbing her head. Lucinda ignored her.
She turned back to stare at her husband. "You will have cause to remember this conversation, Sigmund." Then she swept past the girl, who sidled into the room and stood demurely until Sigmund Galworthy noticed her.
He sighed and lowered the newspaper. "What is it, Hannah?"
"It's Miss Dorothy, sir."
"What's wrong?"
"She won't eat her dinner, sir."
"My dear Hannah!" He came to stand beside her. "We have enough trouble just now without having to worry about whether Dorothy cleans her plate or not. Don't take it upon yourself." He turned away, dismissing her.
"Oh, but Mr. Galworthy!" Hannah boldly remained before him, and Sigmund turned back in surprise.
"Excuse me, but Mrs. Galworthy ordered me to make Miss Dorothy eat every last bit. Including the tomatoes, sir, and you know Miss Dorothy can't eat tomatoes. You know how sick she gets whenever she eats them ... and I've tried, sir. I've been trying to get her to eat for the last hour, but she just can't."
"Look here, Hannah. Your job is to take care of Dorothy and so save me from scenes over tomatoes. Now go up and calm the child, and throw the damnâexcuse meâthrow the tomatoes in the garbage. Forget it. I don't want to hear any more about it."
"Oh, thank you, sir," cried Hannah with great relief, bobbing up and down respectfully. "But what about Mrs. Galworthy? She said earlier that the child was to clean her whole plate."
"My wife knows perfectly well that Dorothy can't stomach tomatoes. I will speak to her, Hannah." He removed a pipe from his vest pocket and polished its smooth bowl against his gray-trousered hip. "Now, unless there's something else you would like to discuss with me..."
"No, sir, thank you very much." She bobbed herself out of the room.
Miranda watched for a few more minutes, hoping something else would happen. Sigmund returned to his armchair in front of the fire. A small shower of sparks flew up the chimney. He stoked his pipe. Miranda had just started to turn away, not liking the strong odor of his pipe, when Dorothy appeared in the doorway.
She wore a long white flannel nightgown and her hair was tied back tightly in two long braids. She crept quietly over to Sigmund's chair and paused behind it. He sat once again gazing dreamily into the fire, puffing his pipe. Her small hands darted around and covered his eyes. "Guess who?" she said in a gruff voice.
"Oh my," said Sigmund mildly. "Is it Mr. Beecham from the office?"
Dorothy giggled, then quickly resumed the gruff tone. "No! Guess again."
"Is it Mrs. Hooton?"
"She doesn't have a voice like this!"
"
Mr.
Hooton, then?"
"No!"
"I shall never guess," moaned her father, and he reached his big hands over his head and down to close around her little body. He held her around the waist and hoisted her off the floor, tumbling her head-over-heels through the air above his head and down into his lap. Her laughter filled the room.
"Aha! Now I see it is only my little mouse."
Dorothy nestled against his chest. "I've come to say good night."
"I'm glad." He stroked the top of her head and fingered one of the long braids. "Do you know what the train conductor says when he blows the whistle?"
"What?"
"He says, 'Whooo-whooo!'" whistled Sigmund Galworthy, tugging on the braid as if pulling the chain on a train whistle.
They were still laughing together when Lucinda stalked into the room. "Dorothy! Hannah is looking for you! Get back upstairs and finish those tomatoes. And if you can't finish them before bedtime, you will see them in the morning for your breakfast."
Sigmund Galworthy set Dorothy back on her feet. "Dorothy will have an egg for breakfast," he said. "You know she can't eat tomatoes, Lucinda."
"The child must learn to eat what is set
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