"Cease, babblers," I said. "In earlier and less conjugal days no wedding was considered complete without my silver candlesticks. It was all so simple, too. I called at Gillingham's, wrote out a card, gave an address, and away went the present. And what's more, they all wrote back and said it was the one thing they had been longing for." "Oh," said the lady of the house, "they'll write like that about anything. At any rate, we won't have candlesticks. They're quite useless now, you know. Nobody has candles." "And that," I said, "is what makes candlesticks so valuable. There's nothing base and utilitarian about them. They are appreciated for their beauty, and there's an end of them. Do, do let me buy a pair for George Henderson." "No," she said; "the whole of the rest of the silversmith's art is open to you, but we will _not_ have candlesticks." "I told you so," said Rosie to Helen. In the afternoon, accordingly, I wandered into the establishment of Messrs. Gillingham, jewellers, goldsmiths and silversmiths, and heaven knows what besides. For a few moments I steeped myself in the glittering magnificence of the objects displayed around me. Then a polite and very well-dressed young man--not my usual one, but a stranger--spoke to me. "Are you being attended to, Sir?" he said. "No," I said, "not yet. I'm not quite ready for it. Still, I may as well begin." "Yes, Sir." "What," I said, pointing to a diamond tiara, "is the price of that?" Two ladies who were making a purchase turned round and gazed at me with an awe-struck but approving look. The young man was evidently much impressed. "That," he said, "is one of our newest designs. The stones are all specially selected. The price"--he studied the little tag attached to it--"the price is £1,050; very cheap for the value." "It is," I said, "wonderfully cheap. I can't think how you manage to do it. I will think about it. In the meantime I should like to see something smaller and not quite so valuable." "Is it a wedding present, Sir?" "Don't," I said, "let us call it a wedding present just yet." If we do it's sure to turn out a sugar-sifter. Let's think of it as a mere gift." "Yes, Sir." "Of course we may find that the man to whom we're going to give it is about to be married, but that will be only the long arm, won't it?" "The--I beg your pardon, Sir;" "A coincidence, you know; and we're not the men to be put off by coincidences, are we?" "No, Sir. Would you like to see the manager, Sir?" "No," I said, "the manager would only confuse me. Show me some silver inkstands and some sugar-jugs--I mean some claret-sifters--that is, some silver decanters, you know, and some silver fruit-baskets." "Yes, Sir." He went away and returned with an inkstand. "This," he said, "is a very favourite pattern. It combines a large inkpot and a match-stand and a rack for the pens----" "I know," I said; "they never stay in it." "No, Sir. And there's a little candlestick for sealing-wax----"