Denham.
Well, twelve from twenty-one leaves--
(_Undine counts on her fingers_)
How many?
Undine.
About eight, I think.
Denham.
Try again, stupid!
Undine.
But, father, I think there _ought_ to be ten pence in a shilling.
Denham.
Why _ought_ there, you monkey?
Undine.
Oh, because then, don't you see, you could count on your fingers all
right, but now there are too many pennies for your fingers, and so
you never can tell how many are over.
Denham.
Very convenient. But come now, twelve from twenty-one?
Undine.
(_counting again_) Nine?
Denham.
(_resuming his book_) All right then. Down with it in the pence
column, and get on.
Undine.
(_kissing him_) Oh, you jolly old father! I should like to do my
sums with you always.
Denham.
Heaven forbid! Get on! Get on! (_Crosses to chair L._)
(_A pause._)
Undine.
Father! _Father!_
Denham.
H'm!
Undine.
I say, FATHER!
Denham.
Do let me read in peace.
Undine.
But, father--
Denham.
Well?
Undine.
Do the Greeks worship Demeter now?
Denham.
No, not now.
Undine.
The old Greeks were the cleverest people that ever lived, and they
had the nicest gods.
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