"Francesca," I said, "you must be very deeply occupied; for ten
minutes I have not heard your silvery voice."
"I am attempting," she said, "to fill up our sugar form."
"Is it a tremendous struggle?"
"Yes," she said, "it is a regular brain-smasher."
"Give me the paper, and let me have a go at it."
With a haggard face, but without a word, she handed me the buff form,
and sat silently while I read the various explanations and directions.
"Francesca," I said, "you are doing wrong. It says that the form must
be filled up and signed by a responsible member of the household. Now
you can say that you're brilliant or amiable or handsome or powerful
or domineering, but can you honestly say you're responsible? No, you
can't. So I shall keep this form and fill it up myself in due time,
and leave you to look after the hens or talk to the gardener."
"Anybody," she said, "who can wring a smile from a gardener, as I have
this morning, is entitled to be considered responsible. Infirm of
purpose! hand me the paper."
"Very well," I said, "you can have the paper; only remember that,
if we get fined a thousand pounds for transgressing the Defence of
the Realm Act, you mustn't ask me for the money. You must pay it
yourself."
"I'll chance that," she said, as I handed back the paper.
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