Irais and I looked at each other. We knew what we did call him,
and were afraid Minora would in time ferret it out and enter it in her
note-book. The Man of Wrath looked none too well pleased to be alluded
to under his very nose by our new guest as "him."

"Husbands are always sages," said I gravely.

"Though sages are not always husbands," said Irais with equal gravity.
"Sages and husbands--sage and husbands--" she went on musingly, "what does
that remind you of, Miss Minora?"

"Oh, I know,--how stupid of me!" cried Minora eagerly, her pencil
in mid-air and her brain clutching at the elusive recollection, "sage and,--
why,--yes,--no,--yes, of course--oh," disappointedly, "but that's vulgar--
I can't put it in."

"What is vulgar?" I asked.

"She thinks sage and onions is vulgar," said Irais languidly;
"but it isn't, it is very good." She got up and walked to
the piano, and, sitting down, began, after a little wandering
over the keys, to sing.

"Do you play?" I asked Minora.

"Yes, but I am afraid I am rather out of practice."

I said no more. I know what that sort of playing is.

"When we were lighting our bedroom candles Minora