ght call her Geraldine,
And I think she is like a Queen._'

"As a matter of fact she never said it at all," said the boy, folding it
up. "That's only because it's poetry. And I only used her name for the
rhyme."

"Yes, I see. You're very clever!"

"Don't you see any faults in it? I wish you'd tell me straight out
exactly what you think, if you see anything wrong," said Clifford, like
all young writers who think they are pining for criticism but are really
yearning for praise. "I would like," he said, "for you to find any fault
you possibly could! Say exactly what you really mean."

He really thought he meant it.

"Well, I don't see _one_ fault! I think it's perfect," replied Cissy,
like all intelligent women in love with the writer. Her instinct warned
her against finding any fault. Had she found any it would have been the
only thing Clifford would have thought she happened to be wrong about.
As it was, his opinion of her judgment and general mental capacity went
up enormously, and he decided that she was a very clever kid. A decent
little girl too, and not at all bad looking.

"But aren't they a little short, Cissy?" he asked.

"Perhaps they are. But you can easily make them longer, can't you?"

"Oh yes, rather, of course I can."

"Don't you want mummy to see them?"

"Oh no, I don't think I do; wouldn't she laugh at me?"

"Oh no, I'm sure she wouldn't, Clifford. She's coming to have tea with
us to-night."

"Well, mind you don't tell," he said threateningly.

"Of course, I won't. You can trust me. I say, Clifford."

"Well?"

"What do you think I used to want to do?"

"Haven't the slightest idea."

She hesitated a moment. "Shall I tell you?"

"If you like."

"Well, I used to want to marry Henry Ainley!"

"Did you, though," said Clifford, not very interested.

"Yes. But I don't now."

"Don't you, though?"

"No, not the least bit."

"Did he want to marry you?" asked Clifford. This idea occurred to him as
being conversational, but he was still not interested.

"Oh, good gracious, no!" she exclaimed. "Of course not! rather not! Why,
he doesn't know me. And if he did he would think I was a little girl."

"Well, so you are," said Clifford.

"I know. Shall I tell you why I don't want to marry Henry Ainley any
more?"

"You can if you want to." These matrimonial schemes seemed to bore him,
but he thought he ought to endure them as a matter of fair play, as she
had listened to his poetr