Part 9 (2/2)
I
”Had any dinner?” Mr. Prohack asked his daughter.
”No.”
”Aren't you hungry?”
”No, thanks.”
Sissie seized the last remaining apple from the dessert-dish, and bit into it with her beautiful and efficient teeth. She was slim, and rather taller than necessary or than she desired to be. A pretty girl, dressed in a short-skirted, short-sleeved, dark blue, pink-heightened frock that seemed to combine usefulness with a decent perverse frivolity, and to carry forward the expression of her face. She had bright brown hair. She was perfectly mistress of the apple.
”Where's mother?”
”In bed with a headache.”
”Didn't she have dinner with you?”
”She did not. And she doesn't want to be disturbed.”
”Oh! I shan't disturb her, poor thing. I told her this afternoon she would have one of her headaches.”
”Well,” said Mr. Prohack, ”that's one of the most remarkable instances of sound prophecy that I ever came across.”
”Father, what's amusing you?”
”Nothing.”
”Yes, something is. You've got your funny smile, and you were smiling all to yourself when I came in.”
”I was thinking. My right to think is almost the only right I possess that hasn't yet been challenged in this house.”
”Where's Charles?”
”Gone to Glasgow.”
”Gone to _Glasgow_?”
”Yes.”
”What, just now?”
”Ten minutes ago.”
”Whatever has he gone to _Glasgow_ for?”
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