But Katherine shook her head.
"My dearest child, why stop him?" she said. "The foolishnesses of young creatures at play are delicious, and laughter, so long as it is not cruel, I reckon among the good gifts of God."—She paused a moment. "Dear Marie de Mirancourt tried to teach me that long ago, but I was culpably dull of hearing in those days where spiritual truth was concerned, and I failed to grasp her meaning. I believe we never really love, either man or Almighty God, until we can both laugh ourselves and let others laugh. Of all false doctrines that of the sour-faced, joyless puritan is the falsest. His mere outward aspect is a sin against the Holy Ghost."
And Honoria smiled, patting the hand which lay on her arm very tenderly.
"How I love your heavenly rage!" she said. They moved on a few steps in silence. Then, careless of all the rapture its notification of the passing of time might cut short, the clock at the house-stables chimed the half-hour. Honoria paused in her gentle walk.
"Bedtime, Dick," she cried.
"All right," the boy returned. He pursued, and laid hold of, the errant puppies, stowing them, not without kickings and strugglings on their part, one under either arm. They were large and heavy, just as much as he could carry, and he staggered across the grass with them, presenting the effect of a small, black donkey between a pair of very big, white panniers.
"I say, they are awfully stunning though, you know, Honoria," he said rather breathlessly as he came up to her.
"Very soul-satisfying, aren't they, Dick?" she replied. "Richard foresaw as much. That is why he got them for you."
"If I put them down do you suppose they'll follow? Carrying them does make my arms ache."
"Oh, they'll follow fast enough," Honoria said.