"There now, don't grumble out in 'sour grapes' style," Honor replied, playfully, "you can't blame anyone if you did not happen to be a nice young girl, to wear poke bonnets and jerseys, and becoming little nothings--we know you poor unfortunate males are half dead with envy, when you contrast your clumsy suits, every one's the same to look at, with the endless variety of our costumes, but all the same you can't say it's anyone's particular fault that you have all been great grizzly men." "Well, upon my word," Henry Rayne laughed in astonishment, "I hope you have an idea of your sex--come, stop that silly babble about men pining for a transformation, and sit you down here near me; I want to talk of something more reasonable than that. Surely you're ready now?" "Yes, quite--oh! but wait one minute--Nanette," she called, balancing herself on her dainty toes, towards the door, "I'll take my handkerchief from my muff, please,--there," as she shook out the dainty scented folds of a lawn handkerchief, "I am quite, quite, quite ready--begin when _you_ like, and end when I like." She drew over a tiny footstool and sat upon it, and nestled her head on the arm of Henry Rayne's chair. Lovingly he stole his trembling hand over it, and as he toyed with her graceful curls, he began to tell her his little secrets-- "Honor, you've been going out a great deal of late," he began, "Oh, don't lecture me for always being out late," she interrupted, provokingly. "Now don't you say another word, little puss, until your elders consent." "Very well then, cross elder, go on," said she, taking his hand in hers and rubbing it gently up and down her velvet cheek. "But perhaps you feel like prattling a little, after coming in," he interrupted, half regretfully, "so, let you begin, tell me where you've been this afternoon, and what you saw, and all about it, and when I've shown you by example what a patient listener is, I shall expect a return of courtesy when my turn comes." "Well, if it isn't just dreadful to have to yield to the caprices of some people," murmured Honor, with pretended resignation, and then glancing reassuringly up at the kind old face above her, she began-- "This afternoon, didn't you know, we went to the matinee--Miss Reid, Mr. Apley, Aunt Jean, Vivian and the _charming_ Miss Edgeworth, all together. "To the matinee, eh little one? And did you like it?" "Well, I love the theatre, any way," argued Honor, "and so I liked the performance to-day, it was rather--exalted." "Exalted, was it?" Henry Rayne said in a listening sort of repetition, "how exalted?" "Oh, first a love match--vows of fidelity--a wedding--a neglected wife--a husband that flirts--then quarrels, and tears, and rage, and despair, and the other party that is always a handsome man, to sympathize with the afflicted wife, then jealousy, threats and a duel, and the love match all over again."