the bottom of the sea. Once he was let to lift a frame out--only
once, for he dropped some water on a creton. "I think he's
going to have taste," said Mr. Elliot languidly. "It is quite
possible," his wife replied. She had not taken off her hat and
gloves, nor even pulled up her veil. Mr. Elliot laughed, and soon
afterwards another lady came in, and they--went away.

"Why does father always laugh?" asked Rickie in the evening when
he and his mother were sitting in the nursery.

"It is a way of your father's."

"Why does he always laugh at me? Am I so funny?" Then after a
pause, "You have no sense of humour, have you, mummy?"

Mrs. Elliot, who was raising a thread of cotton to her lips, held
it suspended in amazement.

"You told him so this afternoon. But I have seen you laugh." He
nodded wisely. "I have seen you laugh ever so often. One day you
were laughing alone all down in the sweet peas."

"Was I?"

"Yes. Were you laughing at me?"

"I was not thinking about you. Cotton, please--a reel of No. 50
white from my chest of drawers. Left hand drawer. Now which is
your left hand?"