“Now, does it really strike you in that point of view, my dear?” said her father, surveying it artistically with his head on one side: “that’s mine. That’s called Rumty’s Perch.”

“Whose perch?” asked Bella with great indignation.

“Rumty’s. You see, being rather high and up two steps they call it a perch. And they call me Rumty.”

“How dare they!” exclaimed Bella.

“They’re playful, Bella my dear; they’re playful. They’re more or less younger than I am, and they’re playful. What does it matter? It might be Surly, or Sulky, or fifty disagreeable things that I really shouldn’t like to be considered. But Rumty! Lor, why not Rumty?”