"No, Frank, no! those long engagements are utterly hateful. There will you be, I suppose" (and she glanced slyly at him), "moping by yourself, and there shall I be with another round of that horrible season before me, thinking of you, longing for you, and yet having to undergo all the detestable nonsense of balls and parties and _fêtes_, which I so thoroughly despise--for what? At the end to find ourselves a year older, and you perhaps a few pounds richer. As though riches made happiness!" said poor Barbara, who, since she had come to what are called years of discretion, had never known what it was to have a whim unindulged. Churchill raised himself on his elbow, and smiled as he smoothed her glossy hair. "My child," said he, "have you never heard of the philosopher who, when told that poverty was no crime, rejoined, 'No; no crime; but it's deuced inconvenient'? Recollect, furnished lodgings in Mesopotamia, hack cabs to ride in, no Parker to dress your hair, no Rotten Row--by Jove, when I think of it, I feel almost inclined to rush off and never see you again, so horrible is the change to which holding to me must lead you!" and a dark shadow passed across his face. "Do you?" asked Barbara, bending so closely over him that he felt her warm breath on his cheek; "do you?" she repeated with such a dash of earnest in her jesting tone that Churchill thought it necessary to slip his arm round her, and press his lips to her forehead in reassurance. "Why, you silly boy, you forget that when I was a child at home with papa, I knew what poverty was; such poverty as would make what you speak of wealth by comparison. Besides, shall we not be together to share it? And you'll buy me a--what do they call it?--a cookery book, and I'll learn all kinds of housekeeping ways. I can do some things already; Guérin, the Morrisons' _chef_--who was a little struck with me, I think, sir--showed Clara Morrison and me how to make an omelette; and Maurice Gladstone--my cousin Maurice, you know; when we were staying at Sandgate, he was quartered at Shorncliffe--taught me to do bashawed lobster, and he says my bashawed lobster is as good as Sergeant Pheeny's. And you know all the Guards are mad to get asked to sup with Sergeant Pheeny, who's a lawyer, you know, and not a soldier-sergeant." And she stopped quite out of breath. "'You know' and 'you know,'" said Churchill, mocking her; "I do know Sergeant Pheeny, as it happens, and his bashawed lobster, and that dish and omelettes will doubtless be our staple food; and you shall cook it, and clean the saucepans afterwards, you little goose. However, I tell you candidly, darling, though it sounds selfish, I _dare not_ run the risk of losing you, even with all these difficulties before us. As you say, we shall share them together, and--"