_Lucy._ You are horrid. I believe you have it with you. Have you? _Harold._ And what if I say yes? _Lucy._ You have. Do let me see it. _Harold._ And will you be very good if I do! _Lucy._ I'll be angelic. _Harold._ Then on that condition only--There! take it gently. [Lucy _snatches it, and cuts the string_.] I thought you never cut string? _Lucy._ There is never a never that hasn't an exception. _Harold._ Not a woman's, certainly. _Lucy._ Oh! how nice it looks! And to think that it is yours, really and truly yours. "Grace: a Sketch. By Harold Sekbourne." It's delicious! [_Holding the book, dances round the room._] _Harold._ I shall begin to be jealous. You will soon be more in love with my book than you are with me. _Lucy._ And why shouldn't I be? Haven't you always said that a man's work is the best part of him? _Harold._ If my silly sayings are to be brought up in evidence against me like this, I shall---- _Lucy._ You shall what? _Harold._ Take the book back. _Lucy._ Oh, will you? I should like to see you do it. [_Holds it behind her._] You have got to get it first. _Harold._ And what are you going to give me for it? _Lucy._ Isn't it a presentation copy? _Harold._ It is the very first to leave the printer's. _Lucy._ Then you ought not to want any payment. _Harold._ I do though, all the same. Come--no payment, no book. _Lucy._ There, there, there! _Harold._ And there. _Lucy._ Oh! don't! You'll stifle me. And is this for me; may I really keep it? _Harold._ Of course you may; I brought it expressly for you. _Lucy._ How nice of you! And you'll write my name in it? _Harold._ I'll write the dedication. _Lucy._ What do you mean? _Harold._ You shall see. Pen and ink for the author! A new pen and virgin ink! _Lucy._ Your Authorship has but to command to be obeyed. _Harold._ [_Sitting down, writes._] It is printed in all the other copies, but this one I have had bound specially for you, with a blank sheet where the dedication comes, so that in your copy, and yours alone, I can write it myself. There. _Lucy._ [_Looks over his shoulder and reads._] "To my Lady Luce." Oh, Harold, you have dedicated it to me! _Harold._ Who else could I dedicate it to? although 'tis-- "Not so much honouring thee, As giving it a hope that now It may immortal be." _Lucy._ It is good of you. _Harold._ [_Writes again._] "Harold Sekbourne"--what's to-day?--oh, yes, "3rd November, 1863." _Lucy._ And will people know who the "Lady Luce" is? _Harold._ They will some day. The dedication in my next book shall be "To my Lady Wife." _Lucy._ I wonder if I shall ever be that. It seems so long coming. _Harold._ I don't mind when it is--to-morrow, if you like. _Lucy._ Don't talk nonsense, although it is my fault for beginning it. And now sit down--no, here in the arm-chair--and you shall have some nice tea. [_She makes and pours out the tea as Harold talks._]