I met Russell at the Art Gallery. It was a cold day, but I left my muff at home. It was about time for the coat-pocket business. I couldn't afford to wait, for one or two of the girls were wearing their hair like mine, and I'd heard that Toots Warrington had gone to Russell and asked him how he liked kindergartening. Bessie Willing, who told me, said that Russell's reply was: "It's rather pleasant. I'm reversing things. Instead of going from the cradle to the grave, I'm going from the grave to the cradle." I don't believe he said it. In the first place, he is too polite. In the second place, he is too stupid. But as Toots is not young he may have thought of it. He was waiting near a heater, and we sat down together. I shivered. "Cold, honey?" he asked. "Hands are cold. Do you mind if I put one in your coat pocket?" Did he mind? He did not. He was very polite at first and emptied the pocket of various things, including a letter which he mentioned casually was a bill. But after a moment he slid his hand in on top of mine. "You're a wonderful young person," he said, "and you've got me going." Then he squeezed the hand until it hurt. Suddenly he looked up. "Great Scott!" he said. "There's Henry!" Of course it was Henry. He had brought a catalogue and was going painstakingly from one picture to another. He did not see us at first, and we had time to stand up and be looking at a landscape when he got to us. He looked moderately surprised and waited to mark something in the catalogue before he joined us. "Bully show, isn't it?" he said cheerfully. "Never saw so many good 'uns. Well, what are you children up to?" "Dropped in to get warm," said Russell. And I was going to add something, but Henry's interest in us had passed evidently. He marked another cross in the catalogue and went on, with the light shining on his red hair and his soul clearly as uplifted as his chin. "You needn't worry about Henry," I said. "He's a friend of the family, and I'll just call him up and tell him not to say anything." "I used to think he was fond of you." "That's all over," I said casually. "It was just one of the things that comes and goes. Like this little--acquaintance of ours." "What do you mean, goes?" he demanded almost fiercely. "They always do, don't they? Awfully pleasant things don't last. And we can't go on meeting indefinitely. Some one will tell father, and then where will I be?" That was a wrong move about father. "That reminds me," he said. "Are you sure your father dislikes me such a lot?" "Don't let's talk about it," I said, and closed my eyes. "Because I met him to-day, and he nearly fell on my neck and hugged me." Can you beat that? I was stunned. "The more he detests people," I managed finally, "the more polite he is."