"I can't, Letitia," I said sulkily, and I heaved a heavy sigh.

"Come," she said soothingly, "come and study Swedish with me. It will be
most useful for your _Lives of Great Men_. You can read up the Swedes in
the original. I'll entertain you with this book, and you'll forget all
about Mrs. Potz--I mean Gerda Lyberg. By-the-by, Archie, she doesn't
remind me so much of Hedda Gabler. I don't fancy that she is very
subtile."

"You, Letitia," I retorted, "remind me of Mrs. Nickleby. You ramble on
so."

Letitia looked offended. She always declared that Dickens "got on her
nerves." She was one of the new-fashioned readers who have learned to
despise Dickens. Personally, I regretted only his nauseating sense of
humor. Letitia placed a cushion behind my head, smoothed my forehead,
kissed me, made her peace, and settled down by my side. Lack of
nourishment made me drowsy, and Letitia's babblings sounded vague and
muffled.

"It is a most inclusive little book," she said, "and if I can succeed in
memorizing it all I shall be quite at home with the language. In fact,
dear, I think I shall always keep Swedish cooks. Hark at this: 'If the
wind be favorable, we shall be at Gothenburg in forty hours.' '_Om
vinden är god, sa äro vi pa pyrtio timmar i Goteborg._' I think it is
sweetly pretty. 'You are seasick.' 'Steward, bring me a glass of brandy
and water.' 'We are now entering the harbor.' 'We are now anchoring.'
'Your passports, gentlemen.'"