to-night. To-morrow night, yes."

She went up to her room, said her prayers and went to bed and was asleep
immediately.

Lydia had forgotten about Jean's story until she saw her writing
industriously at a small table which had been placed on the lawn. It was
February, but the wind and the sun were warm and Lydia thought she had
never seen a more beautiful picture than the girl presented sitting
there in a garden spangled with gay flowers, heavy with the scent of
February roses, a dainty figure of a girl, almost ethereal in her
loveliness.

"Am I interrupting you?"

"Not a bit," said Jean, putting down her pen and rubbing her wrist.
"Isn't it annoying. I've got to quite an exciting part, and my wrist is
giving me hell."

She used the word so naturally that Lydia forgot to be shocked.

"Can I do anything for you?"

Jean shook her head.

"I don't exactly see what you can do," she said, "unless you could--but,
no, I would not ask you to do that!"

"What is it?" asked Lydia.

Jean puckered her brows in thought.

"I suppose you could do it," she said, "but I'd hate to ask you. You
see, dear, I've got a chapter to finish and it really ought to go off to
London to-day. I am very keen on getting an opinion from a literary
friend of mine--but, no, I won't ask you."

"What is it?" smiled Lydia. "I'm sure you're not going to ask the
impossible."

"The thought occurred to me that perhaps you might write as I dictated.
It would only be two or three pages," said the girl apologetically. "I'm
so full of the story at this moment that it would be a shame if I
allowed the divine fire of inspiration--that's the term, isn't it--to
go out."

"Of course I'll do it," said Lydia. "I can't write shorthand, but that
doesn't matter, does it?"

"No, longhand will be quick enough for me. My thoughts aren't so fast,"
said the girl.

"What is it all about?"

"It is about a girl," said Jean, "who has stolen a lot of money----"

"How thrilling!" smiled Lydia.

"And she's got away to America. She is living a very full and joyous
life, but the thought of her sin is haunting her and she decides to
disappear and let people think she has drowned herself. She is really
going into a convent. I've got to the point where she is saying farewell
to her friend. Do you feel capable of being harrowed?"

"I never felt fitter for the job in my life," said Lydia, and sitting
down in the chair the girl had vacated, she took up the pencil whi