Going to the bookcase, Edith said:

'Can't you give me some idea of what it's like?'

'Certainly I can. I've seen it a hundred times in this very room; in
fact it's always here, except when it's wanted.'

Edith went down on her knees in front of the bookcase and
cross-questioned Bruce on the physiognomy of the volume. She asked
whether it was a novel, whether it was blue, whether it belonged to the
library, whether it was Stevenson, whether it was French, or if it was
suitable for the children.

To all of these questions he returned a negative.

'Suitable for the children?' he repeated. 'What a fantastic idea! Do you
think I should take all this trouble to come and request your assistance
and spend hours of valuable time looking for a book that's suitable for
the children?'

'But, Bruce, if you request my assistance without having the slightest
idea of what book it is, how shall I possibly be able to help?'

'Quite so ... quite so. Never mind, Edith, don't trouble. If I say that
it's a pity there isn't more order in the house you won't regard it, I
hope, dear, as a reproach in any way. If there were a place for
everything, and everything in its place--However! Never mind. It's a
small matter, and it can't be helped. I know, Edith dear, you were not
brought up to be strictly orderly. Some people are not. I don't blame
you; not in the least. Still, when Dilly grows up I shall be sorry if--'