An excellent method he
had discovered, of entirely detaching himself from the excitements
and emotions of other persons, removed the usual difficulties
in the way of disappointing--speaking truths to--or embarrassing
people who deserved it. It was this method which had utterly cast
down the defences of Andrews. Feather was so wholly left out of the
situation that she was actually almost saved from its awkwardness.
"When one is six," he explained, "one will soon be seven--nine--twelve.
Then the teens begin to loom up and one cannot be concealed in
cupboards on a top floor. Even before that time a governess is
necessary, and, even from the abyss of my ignorance, I see that no
respectable woman would stand either the Night or the Day Nursery.
Your daughter--"
"Oh, don't call her THAT!" cried Feather. "My daughter! It sounds
as if she were eighteen!" She felt as if she had a sudden hideous
little shock. Six years HAD passed since Bob died! A daughter! A
school girl with long hair and long legs to keep out of the way.
A grown-up girl to drag about with one. Never would she do it!
"Three sixes are eighteen," Coombe continued, "as was impressed
upon one in early years by the multiplication table."
"I never saw you so interested in anything before," Feather faltered.
"Climbing steep, narrow, horrid stairs to her nursery! Dismissing
her nurse!" She paused a second, because a very ugly little idea
had clutched at her.
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