I suppose, now, it _couldn't_ be anything else, could it?
Yesterday morning the doctor said something was as plain as twice two are four.

You know, the thing rankled in me all day.
It seemed to me that twice two ought to be twenty-two.

Then I asked Clytie and she said it was four, but that didn't satisfy me.

Of course, Clytemnestra is a dear soul, and I truly, love her, but her advantages in an educational way have been meagre.

She could hardly be considered an authority in mathematics, even if she is the ideal cook and friend.