second summer since the parting
between Lydia and her sister, all but the end of the second twelvemonth
since the day when Thyrza had heard something that was not meant for
her ears. In Walnut Tree Walk the evening was clear and warm. A man was
going along the street selling flowers in pots; his donkey-cart was
covered with leaf and bloom, and with a geranium under each arm, he
trudged onwards, bellowing. Children were playing at five-stones on the
pavement you heard an organ away in Kennington Road.

Lydia was having tea and trimming a bonnet at the same time; the bonnet
belonged to Mrs. Poole, and the work on it was for friendship's sake.
Only on that understanding had Lydia consented to do it. Mrs. Poole had
frequently wished to give her an odd job at needlework for which she
herself either had not time or lacked the skill, and to pay for it as
she would have had to pay any one else. For some reason, Lydia declined
to do anything for her on those conditions; she would help as a friend,
but not otherwise.

She was hurrying, for she wanted to take the bonnet to Paradise Street
by eight o'clock, and it was now half-past seven. Her face had the air
of thoughtful contentment which best became it. Her window was open,
and, as in the old days, there were flower-pots on the sill. Her eye
now and then rested for a moment on the little patches of colour; she
did not think of the flowers, but they helped pleasantly to tone her
mind. Even so will a strain of music sometimes pass through the memory,
unmarked by us, yet completing the happiness of some peaceful hour.

She drank her last drop of tea, and; almost simultaneously, put her
last touch to the bonnet. Then she prepared herself for going out,
hummed a tune whilst she carefully packed the piece of head-gear in its
bandbox, and went on her way.

When Mrs. Poole answered her knock at the house-door, Lydia said:

'I hope you'll like it. I shall see you on Sunday, and you'll tell me
then.'

'But where are you going? Why won't you come in?'

'Oh, I have to buy something.'

'Come in for a minute, then.'

'No, thank you; not to-night.'

'Do as I tell you!' said the other, with good-natured persistence. 'I
believe you're ashamed of your work, and that's why you're running
away. Come in at once.'

Lydia yielded, though seemingly with reluctance. They went down into
the kitchen, where the two young Pooles were at an uproarious game.

'Now there's been just about enough