rose, she rose too, but repulsed his attempts to wrap her cloak more closely round her. “It will do very well as it is,” she said, twitching it out of his hand. “What is the matter?” he asked, wistfully, drawing her arm through his, not without a little resistance on her part. “The matter? What should be the matter? I am only tired, and I shall be glad to get home,” said Nancy. “I have made you do too much. I have dragged you about and worn you out, my poor darling!” cried Arthur, and he was full of compunctions, half carrying her downstairs. But when they got into the little _coupé_ which waited for them, she burst forth. “I can’t see what there was so very amusing. I don’t think it could be good French,” cried Nancy. “I don’t pretend that I can talk like you, but I learned French at school, and I am sure I could understand if it was good. You call that acting! I did not think he was clever at all.” “My love,” said poor Arthur, “it was the great Got, the best comic actor in the world, I think. I never saw anyone like him.” “I have seen a dozen better,” cried Nancy. “What did he do? nothing but make a fool of himself, putting on those ridiculous clothes, and dancing and singing, and learning lessons, an old man! The great Go! I wished he would go, I am sure, long before he did go,” she said, recovering her spirits a little by means of her pun. But the process was not so successful in respect to Arthur. He did not say anything, but shrugged his shoulders, which fortunately she did not perceive. “I see,” he said, at last. “That is not the kind of acting you care for; the higher walks perhaps would please you better. We will try something quite different to-morrow.”