“But you’re too perfectly delicious for anything!” Hal cried, springing off the table. “Why haven’t I known you for years? Why haven’t I known you all my life? You must meet my cousin Dick Bruce. You absolutely _must_, with the least possible delay. He’ll simply dote on you. Come along to Basil, and tell me heaps and heaps more”; and she caught her by the arm in the friendliest fashion, and half-pulled her along to the little sitting-room. CHAPTER XXXIII “What a gossip you two have been having!” Basil said, and, seeing the laughter in Hal’s eyes, he added, “has G been telling you some of her amazing theories, or tearing the existing order of the universe to shreds?” “Oh, I don’t know, but she’s simply immense. Have you heard about the tin-pot organ that will play its own way, and the choir that gets convulsed, and the underdone young parson? She’s simply got to know Dick. He wouldn’t miss it for the world.” “Yes; I’ve heard most of it. She plays an organ of laughter for me nowadays, that makes me bless the day she was born.” The gaunt spinster positively blushed. “Oh, that’s just your way,” she snapped, bashfully trying to hide her pleasure. “If I hadn’t been G, a pretty, charming young woman with real music in her might have been, and you’d have liked that much better.” “No, I shouldn’t. She’d have played ‘Home, Sweet Home,’ with variations, and ‘The Maiden’s Prayer’—I know her at a glance. If you do only play scales and exercises I’m sure you manage to put a lot of character into them.” “That’s only thumping; and who wants thumping?” “I do, when it’s the universe. I’m just as much askew with it as you are, only I haven’t got the wit to thump it so satisfactorily. You are going it for the two of us now.” “Still, you’re not a gargoyle…” with a queer twist of her face that delighted Hal. “I shall positively take you to Dick myself,” she said, “or bring him here to you. He’ll talk to you about a mother’s patience, and babies; and you’ll talk to him about gargoyles and organs, and Heaven only knows where you’ll both get to; but I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” “I don’t know who Dick may be, but if he talks to me about mothers and babies”—grimly—“I shall groan like that organ did at christenings. They may be useful in the general scheme, but beyond that I don’t know how any one can put up with them at all; with their potsy-wotsy, and pucksie-ducksie, and general stickiness. It’s quite enough for me that I have to knit stupid little socks for their silly little feet, for bread-and-butter. The most I can say for it is, that it’s a more satisfactory plan than casting your bread on the waters, on the off-chance some kindly Elijah will butter it.” “Where are the socks, G?” Basil asked, looking round. “I should like Hal to enjoy the edifying spectacle of your knitting babies’ socks.” “You don’t mean that,” interrupted Hal comically. “I can’t believe it.”