door. In the immense low bed that faced the rich umbrage of the park Mrs. Melrose lay smoking cigarettes and glancing over her letters. She looked up with her vague smile, and said dreamily: "Susy darling, have you any particular plans—for the next few months, I mean?"
Susy coloured: she knew the intonation of old, and fancied she understood what it implied.
"Plans, dearest? Any number . . . I'm tearing myself away the day after to-morrow . . . to the Gillows' moor, very probably," she hastened to announce.
Instead of the relief she had expected to read on Mrs. Melrose's dramatic countenance she discovered there the blankest disappointment.
"Oh, really? That's too bad. Is it absolutely settled—?"
"As far as I'm concerned," said Susy crisply.
The other sighed. "I'm too sorry. You see, dear, I'd meant to ask you to stay on here quietly and look after the Fulmer children. Fulmer and I are going to Spain next week—I want to be with him when he makes his studies, receives his first impressions; such a marvellous experience, to be there when he and Velasquez meet!" She broke off, lost in prospective ecstasy. "And, you see, as Grace Fulmer insists on coming with us—"
"Ah, I see."
"Well, there are the five children—such a problem," sighed the benefactress. "If you were at a loose end, you know, dear, while Nick's away
