"So I was, darling," I replied; "but then it occurred to me what a good thing it would be for Annabel to give you that, and for me to give you the set of furs I had originally intended. Annabel was so anxious to give you something that you really wanted, and I knew you wanted that." "It is lovely," said Fay, turning over the leaves with her slim fingers, and glancing at the illuminations inside the book. "Thank you so much, dear Annabel." And she came round to Annabel's place and kissed her. "I am glad you like it, my dear," said Annabel. "I wanted to get you something to wear--something more suitable for a young girl than a Prayer Book, but Reggie insisted." "It was so dear of you to want to get me exactly what you thought I wanted," Fay replied; "and I think it is the most exquisite Prayer Book that I've ever seen" (which I really believe it was). "And now you must look at my present, sweetheart," I said, spreading out the furs. "They are beautiful; much too handsome for me." "Nothing is too handsome for you, Fay: cloth-of-gold wouldn't be, if I could get it. Won't you try them on?" "Not now, I think. Thank you very much for them, Reggie, but it really is too hot a morning for trying on furs." "So it is, my dear," Annabel chimed in. "I wonder at Reggie's being so stupid as to suggest it; and before you've had your breakfast, too," she added, as if breakfast were a cooling ceremony. And then we all sat down to breakfast. Fay was absolutely different from what she had been upstairs; but that was just her way; she was as changeable and charming as an April day, and with as little reason for it. Two or three weeks after this, Annabel said to me: "You were wrong after all about that absurd Prayer Book, Reggie. I know it was a ridiculous present for a young girl. I'd much better have given Fay a new sunshade, or something pretty to wear." "It was what she said she wanted," I urged in self-defence. "You must have misunderstood her. You are rather stupid, you know, at misunderstanding people: it comes from being so dreamy and thinking of other things. And she couldn't really have wanted it, for I notice that she never takes it to Church." I had noticed this also, but had carefully refrained from remarking upon it. I endeavoured never to remark upon Fay's doings for fear she should imagine I wanted to control them: my one desire was that she should feel as free as air. "It doesn't really matter," continued Annabel; "but the next time I shall select Fay's birthday present myself. I never thought you'd understand a young girl's thoughts and wishes, and I don't see how it is to be expected that you should, at your age and with no experience of them. But in future I shall use my own judgment." Whereupon Annabel, intent upon her household duties, left me with the crushing conviction that I was a failure as a husband, as I had been in everything else.