th, half closing her eyes and
contemplating her handiwork through her eyelashes; "and I consider it a
most successful sketch."

"It is certainly clever."

"And true, too."

Christopher's eyes twinkled. "Give it me," he said, stretching out his
hand; "but sign it with your name first. Not there," he added hastily,
as Elisabeth began writing a capital E in one corner; "right across the
middle."

Elisabeth looked up in surprise. "Right across the map itself, do you
mean?"

"Yes."

"But it is such a long name that it will cover the whole country."

"I know that."

"It will spoil it."

"I shouldn't be surprised; nevertheless, I always am in favour of
realism."

"I don't know where the realism comes in; but I am such an obliging
person that I will do what you want," said Elisabeth, writing her name
right across the half-sheet of paper, in her usual dashing style.

"Thank you," said Christopher, taking the paper from her; and he smiled
to himself as he saw that the name "Elisabeth Farringdon" covered the
whole of the imaginary continent from east to west. Elisabeth naturally
did not know that this was the only true image in her allegory; she was
as yet far too clever to perceive obvious things. As Chris said, it was
not when her eyes were open that she was most correct.

"I have seen Mr. Tremaine," said Elisabeth to him, a day or two after
this. "Cousin Maria left her card upon him, and he returned her call
yesterday and found us at home. I think he is perfectly delightful."

"You do, do you? I knew you would."

"Why?"

"Because, like the Athenians, you live to see or to hear some new
thing."

"It wasn't his newness that made me like him; I liked him because he was
so interesting. I do adore interesting people! I hadn't known him five
minutes before he began to talk about really deep things; and then I
felt I had known him for ages, he was so very understanding."

"Indeed," Christopher said drily.

"By the time we had finished tea he understood me better than you do
after all these years. I wonder if I shall get to like him better than I
like you?"

"I wonder, too." And he really did, with an amount of curiosity that was
positively painful.

"Of course," remarked Elisabeth thoughtfully, "I shall always like you,
because we have been friends so long, and you are overgrown with the
lichen of old memories and associations. But you are not very
interesting in the abstract, you see; you are nice and goo