"Harold only has one H, dear. What other letters does it have?"
"Uh...what's this one, again?"
At that moment Doctor Pershing came through the front door. "Why don't you ask your father, dear?" said Mrs. Pershing said as she turned towards her husband.
"Papa, what's this letter?"
"Father, what's this letter."
"Father..."
"It's an M."
"Oh." His son went back and sat down on the other side of the sofa, not particularly satisfied.
"Grace, I just met Sir Arnold," said Doctor Pershing.
"Really?"
"He's pretty young," scoffed her husband. "...going about town as if none of us knew who he was..."
Grace nodded and smiled. That was all one ever had to do for Harold.
As her husband critiqued the new landholder, Grace looked at their son. He's not five yet, she thought. Young enough to call his father Papa! I still call my father Papa and he's been dead ten years...
Suddenly Harold was saying, "He and his wife, keeping house at the Wilcox's old place...you ought to go call on her one day and you can tell me what they've done to it."
Grace had a sudden, brilliant idea.
"Perhaps..." said Grace very carefully, "Perhaps I might go right now? Jemmy is down for his nap, and Mina can watch Brit and Harry..."
Harold frowned. "I suppose you could-but be sure Mina has dinner ready when I come home at eight."
"Of course," Grace murmered quietly and she went to pick up little Brittany. She she felt a rising feeling of guilty victory. She could be out of the house in moments, if she hurried!
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