Aunt Cathie gave a loud sniff, and stepped on an earwig.
"Well, make a plan, Lucia," she said in a voice that trembled. "I can't do all the thinking. Let's talk it out. To-day is Thursday, is it not?—Elizabeth will say it's so odd he called about Saturday. Then she'll suspect that I left cards on him first, because she has often told me I'm pushing. Ha, we've got it now. I shall tell her I have called."
"Oh, Aunt Cathie, that is good of you," said Lucia. " But won't you mind?"
"Mind what? Telling a fib? Not a bit."
She put up her glasses and gazed severely at a passing train.
"I shall like it, Lucia," she said harshly, " if it pleases you. Now let's have no more of it. Look; the sweet-peas are really beginning to come out."
"But you're a dear," said Lucia again.
"Stuff and nonsense," said Aunt Cathie firmly.
Two days later, confirming the accuracy of Catherine's conjecture, Elizabeth began to wonder audibly. She was employed on a new patience at the time, which gave her an adventitious aid in dialogue, since she could be absorbed in the game whenever she did not wish to answer, and make her own remarks whenever she thought of them. It is only fair, however, to add that the crisis was precipitated by Catherine. She shut up "Le Fou Yégof" with a snap, having got to the end of a chapter.
"I'm thinking of sending a card for our Tuesdays to Lord Brayton, Elizabeth," she said.
"Red ten or black knave," said Elizabeth, trying to think of something sarcastic. Then she was brilliant, pausing with the red ten in her hand.
"The King is to be at the cattle-show that day," she said. "You will no doubt send him an invitation too. And black nine."
"Must be civil," said Aunt Cathie. "He called here, and had tea."
Lucia shut up the piano, but in closing it the lid slipped from her fingers and fell with a crash that set all the strings jarring. Aunt Elizabeth put up her hand to her head, and drew in her breath in a hissing manner.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Lucia.
"Never mind," said Aunt Elizabeth faintly. "You couldn't
