“Bless me, my dear,” said the Colonel, struggling to his feet, and kissing his niece upon the forehead, “what a memory you have got! It will get you into trouble some day.” “I daresay—me, or somebody else. But history repeated itself, uncle, that is all. The same sleepy Me in a lounge-chair, the same hot day, the same blue-bottle, and the same You scolding the same Daddy about the same window. Though what on earth dad’s window can matter to anyone except himself, I can’t understand.” “I daresay not, my dear; I daresay not. We can none of us know everything—not even latter day young ladies—but I suggest that a few hours with Fergussen’s ‘Handbook of Architecture’ might enlighten you on the point.” Mary reflected, but the only repartee that she could conjure at the moment was something about ancient lights which did not seem appropriate. Therefore, as she thought that she had done enough for honour, and to remind her awe-inspiring relative that he could not suppress her, suddenly she changed the subject. “You are looking very well, uncle,” she said, surveying him calmly; “and younger than you did last year. How is my cousin Morris? Will the aerophone talk yet?” “Be careful,” said the Colonel, gallantly. “If even my grey hairs can provoke a compliment, what homage is sufficient for a Sleeping Beauty? As for Morris, he is, I believe, much as usual; at least he stood this morning till daybreak staring at the sea. I understand, however—if he doesn’t forget to come—that you are to have the pleasure of seeing him this evening, when you will be able to judge for yourself.” “Now, don’t be sarcastic about Morris, uncle; I’d rather you went on abusing dad’s window.” “Certainly not, my dear, if it displeases you. But may I ask why he is to be considered sacred?” “Why?” she answered, and a genuine note crept into her bantering voice. “Because he is one of the few men worth anything whom I ever chanced to meet—except dad there and——” “Spare me,” cut in the Colonel, with admirable skill, for well he knew that his name was not upon the lady’s lips. “But would it be impertinent to inquire what it is that constitutes Morris’s preeminent excellence in your eyes?” “Of course not; only it is three things, not one. First, he works harder than any man I know, and I think men who work adorable, because I am so lazy myself. Secondly, he thinks a great deal, and very few people do that to any purpose. Thirdly, I never feel inclined to go to sleep when he takes me in to dinner. Oh! you may laugh if you like, but ask dad what happened to me last month with that wretched old member of the Government, and before the sweets, too!” “Please, please,” put in Mr. Porson, turning pink under pressure of some painful recollection. “If you have finished sparring with your uncle, isn’t there any tea, Mary?”