om?" Thus the Professor,
resuming his hand-rubbing, and neglecting the leg of a fowl.

"Make your father eat his lunch, Laetitia. We _cannot_ be late again
this afternoon." Whereon every one ate too fast; and Sally felt very
glad the Professor had given her such a big slice of tongue, as she
knew she wouldn't have the courage to have a second supply, if offered,
much less ask for it.

"Do you hear, papa? I'm to make you eat your lunch," says Laetitia;
and her mother murmurs "That's right; make him," as though he were an
anaconda in the snake-house, and her daughter a keeper who could go
inside the cage. Laetitia then adds briefly that Mrs. Nightingale is
going to marry Fenwick.

"Ha! Mercy on us!" says the Professor quite vaguely, and, even more so,
adds: "Chicken--chicken--chicken--chicken--chicken!" Though what he
says next is more intelligible, it is unfortunate and ill-chosen: "And
who _is_ Mrs. Nightingale?"

The sphinx is mobility itself compared with Mrs. Wilson's intense
preservation of her _status quo_. The import of which is that the
Professor's blunders are things of everyday occurrence--every minute,
rather. She merely says to Europe, "You see," and leaves that continent
to deal with the position. Sally, who always gets impatient with the
Wilson family, except the Professor himself and Laetitia--though _she_
is trying sometimes--now ignores Europe, and gets the offender into
order on her own account.

"Why, Professor dear, don't you know Mrs. Nightingale's my mother?
I'm Sally Nightingale, you know!"

"I'm not at all sure that I did, my dear. I think I thought you were
Sally Something-else. My mind is very absent sometimes. You must
forgive me. Sally Nightingale! To be sure!"

"Never mind, Professor dear!" But the Professor still looks vexed at
his blunder. So Sally says in confirmation, "I've forgiven you. Shake
hands!" And doesn't make matters much better, for her action seems
unaccountable to the absent-minded one, who says, "Why?" first, and
then, "Oh, ah, yes--I see. Shake hands, certainly!" On which the
Sphinx, at the far end of the table, wondered whether the ancient
Phoenicians were rude, under her breath.

"I'm so absent, Sally Nightingale, that I didn't even know your father
wasn't living." Laetitia looks uncomfortable, and when Sally merely
says, "I never saw my father," thinks to herself what a very discreet
girl Sally is. Naturally she supposes Sally to be a wise enough child
to know