"Oh, very well, Father," assented little Eve Edgarton. "Only--" ruggedly the soft little chin thrust itself forth into stubborn outline again. "Only, Father," she articulated with inordinate distinctness, "you might just as well understand here and now, I won't budge one inch toward Nunko-Nono--not one single solitary little inch toward Nunko-Nono--unless at London, or Lisbon, or Odessa, or somewhere, you let me fill up all the trunks I want to--with just plain pretties--to take to Nunko-Nono! It isn't exactly, you know, like a bride moving fifty miles out from town somewhere," she explained painstakingly. "When a bride goes out to a place like Nunko-Nono, it isn't enough, you understand, that she takes just the things she needs. What she's got to take, you see, is everything under the sun--that she ever may need!" With a little soft sigh of finality she sank back into her pillows, and then struggled up for one brief instant again to add a postscript, as it were, to her ultimatum. "If my day is over--without ever having been begun," she said, "why, it's over--without ever having been begun! And that's all there is to it! But when it comes to Henrietta," she mused, "Henrietta's going to have five-inch hair-ribbons--and everything else--from the very start!" "Eh?" frowned Edgarton, and started for the door. "And oh, Father!" called Eve, just as his hand touched the door-knob. "There's something I want to ask you for Henrietta's sake. It's rather a delicate question, but after I'm married I suppose I shall have to save all my delicate questions to--ask John; and John, somehow, has never seemed to me particularly canny about anything except--geology. Father!" she asked, "just what is it--that you consider so particularly obnoxious in--in--young men? Is it their sins?" "Sins!" jerked her father. "Bah! It's their traits!" "So?" questioned little Eve Edgarton from her pillows. "So? Such as--what?"