something held him as though a stronger than he had placed his hand
over his mouth. His face flamed.

"You've truly cleaned them?" she said.

"Yes, truly," he answered, his eyes on the ground. Never was there a
more obvious liar in all the world.

She said no more; he moved to the fireplace. His joy was gone. There
was a cold clammy sensation about his heart. Slowly, very slowly,
the consciousness stole upon him that he was a liar. He had not
thought it a lie when he had first spoken, now he knew.

Still there was time. Had he turned round and spoken, all might
still have been well. But now obstinacy held him. He was not going
to give the Jampot an opportunity for triumphing over him. After
all, he would clean them so soon as she went to brush Helen's hair.
In a moment what he had said would be true.

But he was miserable. Hamlet came up from the nether regions where
he had spent the night, showing his teeth, wagging his tail, and
even rolling on the cockatoos. Jeremy paid no attention. The weight
in his heart grew heavier and heavier. He watched, from under his
eyelids, the Jampot. In a moment she must go into Helen's room. But
she did not. She stayed for a little arranging the things on the
breakfast-table--then suddenly, without a word, she turned into
Jeremy's bedchamber. His heart began to hammer. There was an awful
pause; he heard from miles away Mary's voice: "Do do that button,
Helen, I can't get it!" and Helen's "Oh, bother!"