“Oh,” observed Cecily, “is _that_ where you are? Is it the higher education of man you demand?” “No!” returned Diana, airily. “I don’t care twopence about their education, or whether they ever get any. I just don’t consider them at all.” “What a counsel of perfection!” exclaimed Cecily. “Go on, Diana. I’m interested. You’re a philosopher. What is the conclusion of the whole matter?” “Oh, I don’t know,” returned Diana, absently wreathing a nightdress round her neck, while she tilted a hat over her eyes at an absurd angle before the glass. “There’s such a lot of things to do. You can play games, and read books, and go about and see jolly things abroad, and watch people, and see how funny they are. They are just _madly_ funny, aren’t they? There was a woman in the train who sat and looked like this at her husband because he’d tipped a porter too much.” Her face twisted into a ludicrous expression of contemptuous indignation, and resumed its normal contours in the space of a lightning flash. “Oh! and Uncle Henry gets funnier every day; like an infuriated blue-bottle. ‘’Pon my soul, you women! What you’d do without a sensible man in the house! _Pom! pom! pom!_’--you know.” She took two or three steps before the glass, strutting with puffed-out cheeks, and Uncle Henry rose before Cecily’s mental vision. “Well, there are always people, so it’s easy to be amused. Only you must never care too much about any one, because if you do, you can’t be amused at anything any more, and that’s silly.” The laughter died out of Cecily’s eyes. “Where did you get that, Diana?” she asked. “It isn’t bad.” But Diana’s versatile mind was off on a fresh tack. “I’m glad Dick’s coming,” she said. “He seems jolly, and Robert’s such a grumpus. Why do you let him grump, Cis? Just fancy, I was only twelve when Dick went away. What ages we’ve known him, haven’t we? How did we get to know him first? I forget.” “Frank brought him to Carmarthen Terrace, you know. He was an Oxford friend of his. Yes, it was ages ago. I was only a little older than you when he first came.” “Was he in love with you?” asked Diana, calmly. She had divested herself of the hat and nightdress by this time, and was beginning to brush her hair. “Little girls shouldn’t ask impertinent questions,” returned Cecily, looking out of the window. “Oh, then he was!” pursued Diana, quite unruffled. “How exciting for you! Of course you’ll put on your best frock this evening, won’t you? People always do when their lovers come back after many years.” “And what about Robert?” inquired Cecily, with a curious smile. “Well, what’s the good of putting on a pretty frock for him?” Diana retorted. “He’s grown exactly like a very old grand-papa.” She put on an imaginary pair of spectacles, and peered about in a short-sighted way. “‘Frocks, my dear, what nonsense! I’m past all that sort of thing.’” Cecily winced a little; then she laughed. “Robert will box your ears one of these days.”