Fay stopped for breath, she was chattering so fast, and skipping at the same time. She was so full of life and spirits that she never could walk soberly along like other people. And then she began talking again, and so did I, and we continued the enchanting _solitude à deux_, which is the especial prerogative of marriage, until it was time to return home to tea and Annabel. The next morning, when Fay was out of the room, Annabel said to me: "Reggie, I want to ask your advice?" "Such as it is it is always at your service," I replied; "though I admit I cannot just now recall any occasion when you have availed yourself of it, your own, as a rule, proving adequate for your needs." "I want to know what to give Fay for a birthday present," continued my sister. "Just after a wedding and all the presents, it is so difficult to find anything that anybody wants, and it seems a waste of money to buy what is useless." A brilliant idea occurred to me, one which I thought would prove of assistance in my lifework of bringing Fay and Annabel nearer together. Annabel should give Fay the Prayer Book, and so become identified with what Fay called her prayers and praises, and therefore draw nearer to my darling's inmost heart. It was the dream of my life that Annabel should be as dear to Fay as she was to me, and what better way of securing this than by associating her with Fay's moments of religious emotion? It appeared to me a capital plan. "I know what you can give her," I replied, "a combined Prayer Book and Hymn Book beautifully bound: it happens to be just what she wants." Annabel looked scornful. "What a ridiculous suggestion! How can she want a Prayer Book when our pew is positively packed with them? They fit so tight in the book-ledge that there isn't room for even a pair of gloves or a pocket-handkerchief between." "She finds them too big: she wants a smaller one of her own." I knew my Annabel, and therefore did not enter into any vain attempt to explain to her Fay's actual feelings on the subject. "I can understand her wanting a small one if she had to carry it to church and back. But, as she hasn't, I should have thought the larger the better because of the big print. Though of course at Fay's age the size of the print doesn't matter as it does to you and me." Annabel never tried to cover over the discrepancy in age between my wife and me: not from any disagreeableness; it was not in Annabel to be intentionally disagreeable; but the discrepancy was a fact, and it was not her custom to blink facts. "The size of the print makes no difference to me," I replied, somewhat nettled. "I can see small print as well as large." "That is because you are so short-sighted. Short-sighted people always keep their sight till they are quite old. But if you were normal you'd have to begin spectacles at your age. I did--at least, for fine sewing and small print."