As a friend and as a needlewoman, Coral was indefatigable. Laura’s trousseau absorbed her and she ended, with the marked approval of Mrs. Cloud and Aunt Adela, not only in converting the roll of lawn into a pile of delectable garments, but in annexing the quarter’s dress-money which Laura had intended spending on a garden hat, a complete set of the poems of Mr. Alfred Noyes, and a birthday present for the twins, who, installed in a counting-house and chambers, and very much men about town, were nevertheless desperately in need, Laura dear, (if any one wants to know, you know) of basket-chairs and summer pants. Laura, contemplating the silk and muslin for which Coral, in conclave with Mrs. Cloud, had exchanged that elastic seven pounds ten, did not know whether to be allured or incensed. “It’s sweet of you, of course. They’re delicious. But such waste, Coral! They’ll go out of fashion. I’m not going to be married tomorrow!” Coral rubbed her nose in that meditative way of hers that was disastrous to her complexion. “How long have you been engaged?” “Oh, about a year.” “A year! Why on earth don’t you get married?” “It’s never been quite convenient. We were going to last spring, but then the chance came to join that expedition——” Coral interrupted her. “Laura, tell me honestly—do you _enjoy_ fiddling about over birds’ eggs?” Laura flushed. “Why, I know as much about them as Justin. He said so the other day. If he were in doubt about a bird, I believe he’d listen to me. I’m longer-sighted, you know. He would, honestly, if he hadn’t made up his mind.” “Is he ever wrong?” Coral’s voice was colourless. “I’ve never known him wrong,” said Laura in all gravity. “Only, of course, he sometimes changes his mind. And that’s what always annoys me so, you know, that I never really know why he does. But I suppose when one’s married——?” “No,” said Coral thoughtfully. “No. Oh, of course, after a time you’ll get to know what they’ll do always, but you never really know why they do it.” “That’s what makes it difficult,” Laura sighed. “How—difficult?” “Well, to keep in step, I mean. You see, he’ll think Carson a sort of Cromwell for months, and I get hardened to the _Daily Mail_ and read up William and Mary so as to back him against Gran’papa, and then, all of a sudden—well, he’s Home Rule at present. It makes it a little difficult for me.” Coral stared, with all the indifference of her class and her type to that particular amusement of its men-folk. “Oh, politics! I shouldn’t worry about politics. As if one had time for an opinion about politics!” Laura, with other blood in her veins, stared in her turn. “But naturally I’ve an opinion! I’m not a fool! Only—” she began to laugh—“I don’t let on.” “Why?” But Coral looked as if she knew.