have got a headache?"

"A little."

"That's because you will go and write poetry directly after lunch. Why it
would even give _me_ a headache!"

"I had an idea," said Susan plaintively.

"What does that matter? Ideas'll keep. You have just to make a note of
them--put salt on their tails--and then go and take a walk. Indigestion,
my dear--which is the plain English for your headache--is very bad for
ideas. What have you been doing to your collar?"

And Lydia took hold of her sister, straightening her collar, pinning up
her hair, and generally putting her to rights. When the operation was
over, she gave a little pat to Susan's cheek and kissed her.

"You can come with us to Threlfall, that would take your headache away;
and I don't mind the back seat."

"I wasn't asked," said Susan with dignity. "I shall go for a walk by
myself. I want to think."

Lydia received the intimation respectfully, merely recommending her
sister to keep out of the sun; and was hurrying into the house to fetch
her hat when Susan detained her.

"Was that Lord Tatham who came just now?"

"It was." Lydia faced her sister, holding up the note from Lady Tatham.
"We are all to dine with them next week."

"He has been here nearly every other day for a fortnight," said Susan,
with feminine exaggeration. "It is becoming so marked that everybody
talks."

"Well, I can't help it," said Lydia defiantly. "We are not a convent; and
we can hardly padlock the gate."

"You should discourage him--if you don't mean to marry him."

"My dear, I like him so!" cried Lydia, her hands behind her, and tossing
her fair head. "Marrying!--I hate the word."

"He cares--and you don't," said Susan slowly, "that makes it very
unfair--to him."

Lydia frowned for a moment, but only for a moment.

"I'm _not_ encouraging him, Susy--not in the way you mean. But why should
I drive him away, or be rude to him? I want to put things on a proper
footing--so that he'll understand."

"He's going to propose to you," said Susan bluntly.

"Well, then, we shall get it over," said Lydia, reluctantly. "And you
don't imagine that such a golden youth will trouble about such a trifle
for long. Think of all the other things he has to amuse him. Why, if I
broke my heart, you know I should still want to paint," she added,
flippantly.

"I'd give a good deal to see you break your heart!" said the tragedienne,
her dark eyes kindling--"you'd be just splendid!"

"Thanks, awfully! T