"It's very rude," he said, "not to answer when gentlemen speak to
you."

"I don't see any gentlemen," answered Helen quietly, without raising
her eyes, which was, as she knew, a provoking habit.

"Yes, you do," almost screamed Jeremy. "I'm one."

"You're not," continued Helen; "you're only eight. Gentlemen must be
over twenty like Father or Mr. Jellybrand."

"I hate Mr. Jellybrand and I hate you," replied Jeremy.

"I don't care," said Helen.

"Yes, you do," said Jeremy, then suddenly, as though even a good
quarrel were not worth while on this heavily burdened afternoon, he
said gently: "You might play Pirates, Helen. You can be Sir Roger."

"I've got this to finish."

"It's a dirty old thing," continued Jeremy, pursuing an argument,
"and it'll be dirtier soon, and the Jampot says you do all the
stitches wrong. I wish I was at school."

"I wish you were," said Helen.

There was a pause after this. Jeremy went sadly back to his window-
seat. Mary felt that her moment had arrived. Sniffing, as was her
habit when she wanted something very badly, she said in a voice that