We ought to give him a present, too.

He was always very nice to father." "But," cried Josephine, flouncing on her pillow and staring across the dark at Constantia, "father's head!" And suddenly, for one awful moment, she nearly giggled.

Not, of course, that she felt in the least like giggling.

It must have been habit.

Years ago, when they had stayed awake at night talking, their beds had simply heaved.