o Fate now, but all the same I
cannot yet think of the blessed Valley and all of you, and--and the
happy time we are _not_ going to have, without feeling quite like
'weeping a little weep.' How I wish that we possessed a superfluous
income!"

"Now," said Elsie, and her voice too sounded as if a "little weep" were
not far off, "isn't that too bad? No papa this year, and no Johnnie. I
suppose we are spoiled, but the fact is, I have grown to count on the
Daytons and their car as confidently as though they were the early and
the latter rain." Her arch little face looked quite long and
disconsolate.

"So have I," said Clover. "It doesn't bear talking about, does it?"

She had been conscious of late of a great longing after her father. She
had counted confidently on his visit, and the sense of disappointment
was bitter. She put away her bonnet and folded her gloves with a very
sober face. A sort of disenchantment seemed to have fallen on the Valley
since the coming of this bad news and the departure of Rose.

"This will never do," she told herself at last, after standing some
moments at the window looking across at the peak through a blur of
tears,--"I _must_ brace up and comfort Elsie." But Elsie was not to be
comforted all at once, and the wheels of that evening drave rather
heavily.

Next morning, as soon as her usual tasks were despatched, Clover ordered
Marigold saddled and started for the Youngs'. Rose's last remarks had
made her uneasy about Imogen, and she remembered with compunction how
little she had seen of her for a fortnight past.

No one but Sholto, Lionel's great deerhound, came out to meet her as she
dismounted at the door. His bark of welcome brought Ah Lee from the back
of the house.

"Missee not velly well, me thinkee," he observed.

"Is Missy ill? Where is Mr. Young, then?"

"He go two hours ago to Uppey Valley. Missee not sick then."

"Is she in her room?" asked Clover. "Tie Marigold in the shade, please,
and I will go in and see her."

"All litee."

The bed-room door was closed, and Clover tapped twice before she heard a
languid "Come in." Imogen was lying on the bed in her morning-dress,
with flushed cheeks and tumbled hair. She looked at Clover with a sort
of perplexed surprise.

"My poor child, what is the matter? Have you a bad headache?"

"Yes, I think so, rather bad. I kept up till Lion had had his breakfast,
and then everything seemed to go round, and I had to come and lie down.