“What’s the news, Wolf?” she enquired, with the indistinct voice of a greedy child, turning, as she did so, her cream-clogged spoon upside-down in her mouth, so as to lick it clean. “What’s this you were going to tell me?”

“Guess, sweetheart!” he said contentedly, emptying what was left of the cream-jug over his own oatmeal. “Nothing, in fact, could be better. Urquhart announced last night that he has decided to go slow with our History. You know what a hurry he’s been in? But he now says he’s decided to make a complete job of it, even if it takes five years to finish.”

The infantile sulkiness in Gerda’s face only deepened at his words, and with an impatient gesture she stretched out her arms and tossed back her head. Then she tightened the green ribbon with which she had fastened her locks, and fixed upon him a cloudy, satiric frown. She appeared so enchanting in her crossness, that Wolf forgot everything as he watched these movements, and for a moment he just looked at her in silence.