"My people have a perfectly splendid one!" said he, and his whole face lighted up. "I wish you could hear it." Christina wished she could, and he said-- "Oh, then, we will manage it somehow." When the concert was over he didn't bolt as he had said he wanted to, but gave us ices, Christina one, me two, and then Christina put the bag on again. "If you were in my motor in that thing in a shower you'd get drowned," said he. "Why, it would _hold_ the water. I should like to drive you in my motor all the same. I say, can't I call on you?" Christina told him very nicely that she was private secretary to the author, Mr. George Vero-Taylor, and hadn't much time for herself. She seemed to say that this made a call impossible. "Ah, I see! Live in, do you? Well, I'll call there, drop my pasteboard, all straight and formal, you know, and then there can be no objection to my giving you a spin in the motor. Right you are! Sinky Cento House. What a rum name! Suggests drains! Never mind, I'll be there, and then when I've made the acquaintance of your chaperon, she'll allow you to come to tea with my mater, and make the acquaintance of the gramophone. My mater's too old to go out. It's a ripper, the gramophone, I mean, like some other people I am thinking of!" "What a breezy man!" said Christina, on the way home. "He reminds me of The Northman I used to draw at South Kensington. I broke him, and had to pay seven-and-six for him." Then she began to think--I believe it was about Peter Ball. He _was_ handsome, for he had blue eyes and a little short, straight nose like the Sovereigns in Madame Tussaud's. "Isn't he exactly like Harold of England?" I said to Christina. "I hope George won't snub him when he comes to see you?" "He won't come," said she; "but if he did he wouldn't know he was being snubbed." "No, he would say to George, 'Keep your snubs for a man of your own size.' But, Christina dear, I always _thought_ you hated both marriage and gramophones." "I am not so sure about gramophones," said she. "Perhaps a very big one----?" "A six-footer, like Mr. Peter Ball, eh?" She was quite moody and absent in the 'bus going home, and wouldn't go on top to please me. Then I accidentally stuck my umbrella in over the top of her shoe as I walked beside her, and then she was too cross to speak at all. I respected her mood. That is why I am beloved in the home circle. But I have my own ideas, and they keep me amused.