think it will be rather interesting to get a naive young girl's
reactions toward the problems of our tranquil existence?"

"Roger, you blessed innocent!" cried his wife. "Life will no
longer be tranquil with a girl of nineteen round the place.
You may fool yourself, but you can't fool me. A girl of nineteen
doesn't REACT toward things. She explodes. Things don't 'react'
anywhere but in Boston and in chemical laboratories. I suppose you
know you're taking a human bombshell into the arsenal?"

Roger looked dubious. "I remember something in Weir of
Hermiston about a girl being 'an explosive engine,'" he said.
"But I don't see that she can do any very great harm round here.
We're both pretty well proof against shell shock. The worst
that could happen would be if she got hold of my private copy
of Fireside Conversation in the Age of Queen Elizabeth.
Remind me to lock it up somewhere, will you?"

This secret masterpiece by Mark Twain was one of the bookseller's
treasures. Not even Helen had ever been permitted to read it;
and she had shrewdly judged that it was not in her line, for though
she knew perfectly well where he kept it (together with his life
insurance policy, some Liberty Bonds, an autograph letter from Charles
Spencer Chaplin, and a snapshot of herself taken on their honeymoon)
she had never made any attempt to examine it.

"Well," said Helen; "Titania or no Titania, if the Corn Cobs want
their chocolate cake to-night, I must get busy. Take my suitcase
upstairs like a good fellow."