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denying herself anything to do it. Was she ever really kind and understanding? You can’t honestly say so. And now she’s dying—bursting—to make mischief between us, and you say she's good! She’ll probably warn you about me one of these days. Pouah! what minds people have! I detest that woman.”

“Well, I—I don’t like her either when she’s horrid to you. But, Tony, everything else is so perfect, we can afford not to mind her really. . . . Stop looking so cross! Are you ever going to be as cross as that with me?”

“If you develop into an Aunt Sophia I might be.”

“There’s not much danger, she is no relation, you know. . . . Tony, when you scowl your eyebrows make one straight black bar right across your forehead. It looks so—emphatically annoyed. I think I could be quite afraid of you. And, by the way, you mustn’t be horrid to Aunt Sophia, for Uncle Roger’s sake.”

“I like that! As if I were being ‘horrid'! It’s your intolerable old aunt-by-marriage. . . . Oh, yes, I’ll be civil enough. But you might be nice to me now. You don’t give me much of you these days. What about going away from England, once these visits are over, and having a little time to ourselves? We couldn’t have a proper honeymoon before, there wasn’t money enough! We might take it now.”

“It sounds lovely. Where should we go?”

“Do you know Spain? No? Well, let’s go there. I love it, and I’d like to show it to you. We’ll ride, shall we? And take a tent. You can go to lots of nice places that way that are too rough and dirty for you to stay in. I haven’t been to Spain since I met Archie at Ronda—doesn’t it seem a long time ago? It isn’t much more than a year, though! I’ll show you a castle in Spain—a nice place on a purple rock in a mushroom—pink plain with a wine-coloured river running through it—sounds rather indi-