"Well, Jon, what can you expect if you eat macaroons after you've gone to bed?"
"Only one, Mum; it made the music ever so more beautiful. I was waiting for you--I nearly thought it was to-morrow."
"My ducky, it's only just eleven now."
Little Jon was silent, rubbing his nose on her neck.
Half himself again, little Jon drew back.
"You look different, Mum; ever so younger."
Little Jon laid hold of it, thick, dark gold, with a few silver threads.
"I like it," he said: "I like you best of all like this."