Kitty shook her meditative head. "Poor Bunny," said she, "why can't you be honest? Why don't you say plump out that you're sick and tired of me? _I_ should be. I couldn't stand another woman lugging me about as I lug you." "It isn't _that_. Only--everywhere we go--there's always some horrible man." "Everywhere you go, dear lamb, there always will be." "Yes; but one doesn't have anything to do with them." "I don't have anything to do with them." "You talk to them." "Of course I do," said Kitty. "Why not?" "You don't know them." "H'm! If you never talk to people you don't know, pray how do you get to know them?" Kitty sat up and began playing with the matches till she held a bunch of them blazing in her hand. She was blowing out the flame as the Hankins came up the steps of the veranda. They had a smile for the old lady in her corner, and for Miss Keating a look of wonder and curiosity and pity; but they turned from Mrs. Tailleur with guarded eyes. "What do you bet," said Kitty, "that I don't make that long man there come and talk to me?" "If you do----" "I'll do it before you count ten. One, two, three, four. I shall ask him for a light----" "Sh-sh! He's coming." Kitty slid her feet to the floor and covered them with her skirt. Then she looked down, fascinated, apparently, by the shining tips of her shoes. You could have drawn a straight line from her feet to the feet of the man coming up the lawn. "Five, six, seven." Kitty lit her last match. "T-t-t! The jamfounded thing's gone out." The long man's sister came up the steps of the veranda. The long man followed her slowly, with deliberate pauses in his stride. "Eight, nine," said Kitty, under her breath. She waited. The man's eyes had been upon her; but in the approach he lowered them, and as he passed her he turned away his head. "It's no use," said Miss Keating; "you can't have it both ways." Kitty was silent. Suddenly she laughed. "Bunny," said she, "would you like to marry the long man?" Miss Keating's mouth closed tightly, with an effort, covering her teeth. Kitty leaned forward. "Perhaps you can if you want to. Long men sometimes go crazy about little women. And you'd have such dear little long babies--little babies with long faces. Why not? You're just the right size for him. He could make a memorandum of you and put you in his pocket; or you could hang on his arm like a dear little umbrella. It would be all right. You may take it from me that man is entirely moral. He wouldn't think of going out without his umbrella. And he'd be so nice when the little umbrellas came. Dear Bunny, face massage would do wonders for you. Why ever not? He's heaps nicer than that man at the Hydro, and you'd have married him, you know you would, if I hadn't told you he was a commercial traveller. Never mind, ducky; I dare say he wasn't." Kitty curled herself up tight on the long chair and smiled dreamily at Miss Keating.