have a soul for art. I adore art. I'm all art. Art is
sacred; it shouldn't be talked about the way mother speaks of it. When I
was in Paris I was in my element. I wore a linen blouse all over paint;
ah, that blouse--those happy days."

"Oh, Tony," suddenly burst from Susy's lips, "for pity's sake don't go
off into a trance; you'll put Hester into a fit. Her face at the present
moment is enough to kill anyone. For goodness sake, Hester, don't look
like that; you'll make me laugh, and if I laugh immoderately it always
wakes me up. I was looking out for a little nap before tea--forty winks,
you know--I can't live without my forty winks, and now if you put on
that killingly tragic face, I'll scream with laughter, I know I shall.
Oh, dear, oh, dear, you must learn once for all never to mind a single
thing Tony says; she's the oddest, most irrational creature--a genius of
course--her pictures are simply monstrosities, which is a sure sign of
genius."

"Would you like me to take you to your room?" said Hester, turning to
Antonia when Susy had given her a moment of time to open her lips. "I'm
sure you must be tired after your long journey."

"What should tire me?" asked Antonia, opening her big brown eyes in
astonishment. "I travelled first-class from London, and drove out here
in a landau; the whole journey was nothing short of effeminate. When I
was in Paris I rose at four in the morning, and worked at my easel
standing for five hours at a stretch; that was something like work. No,
I'm not the least tired, thank you, and I don't want to be bothered
tidying myself, for I may as well say frankly that I don't care twopence
how I look."

"Tea will be ready in half an hour," said Hester. "Will you come out
into the garden, then, for a stroll?"

"If you don't hate me too much to walk with me; but pray consider your
own feelings if you do, for I don't in the least object to strolling
about alone."

Hester and Antonia had now stepped out on the velvet lawn. They each
gazed fully at the other.

"No," said Hester, speaking with a sudden swift intuition; "I don't hate
you; I rather like you. I am glad you are frank."

"Oh, I hate pretence," said Antonia, with a shudder. "Fancy a priestess
of art stooping to pretence. Well, if you don't detest me, let us walk
about for a little. Have you no wild, uncultured spot to show me, which
the hand of man has not defaced? My whole soul recoils from a velvet
lawn."

"Oh, Tony, Tony, yo