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. Don't you wish there were goddesses now, father? (_Rises, and leans against table._)

Denham.

(_absently_) Yes, of course.

Undine.

Goddesses sometimes fell in love with _people_, father--didn't they?

Denham.

People who didn't happen to be gods? It did occur sometimes, they say.

Undine.

And one might fall in love with you, father. That _would_ be fun!

Denham.

That would be awful. But do stop this chatter, and get on.

Undine.

She'd give _me_ all sorts of jolly things.