fully, "that we might run down after all,
and take a look in at the last act; it's not too late even now. They're
sure to run behind on the first night. And then," he urged, "we can go
around and see Seldon. You have never been behind the scenes, have you?
It's very interesting."

"No, I have not, but if we do," remonstrated the Picture, pathetically,
"you _know_ all those men will come trooping home with us. You know they
will."

"But that's very complimentary," said Stuart. "Why, I like my friends to
like my wife."

"Yes, but you know how they stay when they get here," she answered; "I
don't believe they ever sleep. Don't you remember the last supper you
gave me before we were married, when Mrs. Starr and you all were
discussing Mr. Seldon's play? She didn't make a move to go until half
past two, and I was _that_ sleepy, I couldn't keep my eyes open."

"Yes," said Stuart, "I remember. I'm sorry. I thought it was very
interesting. Seldon changed the whole second act on account of what she
said. Well, after this," he laughed with cheerful desperation, "I think
I shall make up for the part of a married man in a pair of slippers and
a dressing-gown, and then perhaps I won't be tempted to roam abroad at
night."

"You must wear the gown they are going to give you at Oxford," said the
Picture, smiling placidly. "The one Aunt Lucy was telling me about. Why
do they give you a gown?" she asked. "It seems such an odd thing to do."

"The gown comes with the degree, I believe," said Stuart.

"But why do they give _you_ a degree?" persisted the Picture; "you never
studied at Oxford, did you?"

Stuart moved slightly in his chair and shook his head. "I thought I told
you," he said, gently. "No, I never studied there. I wrote some books
on--things, and they liked them."

"Oh, yes, I remember now, you did tell me," said the Picture; "and I
told Aunt Lucy about it, and said we would be in England during the
season, when you got your degree, and she said you must be awfully
clever to get it. You see--she does appreciate you, and you always
treat her so distantly."

"Do I?" said Stuart; quietly; "I'm sorry."

"Will you have your portrait painted in it?" asked the Picture.

"In what?"

"In the gown. You are not listening," said the Picture, reproachfully.
"You ought to. Aunt Lucy says it's a beautiful shade of red silk, and
very long. Is it?"

"I don't know," said Stuart, he shook his head, and dropping his chin
into his