you see."

"Yes, I dare say you are old," said Halcyone-- "and what are they about?
I would like to know that. My books so seldom interest me."

He handed her one through the window, but it was written in Greek and
she could not read it. She frowned again as she turned over the pages.

"Perhaps there is something nice in that," she said.

"Possibly."

"Well, won't you tell me what?"

"That would take a long time--suppose you come in and have tea with me,
then we could talk comfortably."

"That sounds a good plan," she said, gravely. "Shall I climb through the
window--I can quite easily--or would you like me to go round by the
door?"

"The window will serve," said the old man.

And with one bound as light as a young kid, Halcyone was in the room.

There was a second armchair beyond the pile of books, and into that she
nestled, crossing her knees and clasping her hands round them. "Now we
can begin," she said.

"Tea or talk?" asked the old man.