ldn't help me much. No, I
must find some better plan than that."

He was intensely excited: his flushed cheek and glittering eyes betrayed
it. But the feelings of the morning had worn off in the practical work of
packing and preparing for his flight. Perhaps it was as well they had, for
they could hardly have survived an interview with Lydia in the afternoon.
She was suspicious, and required coaxing to begin with.

"Why, what's the matter, Lydia?" said Lisle at last in his gentlest voice.
"You might do this for me."

"You are always wanting something done for you."

"Oh, Lydia! and I've been such a good boy lately!"

"Too good by half," said Lydia.

"And a month ago I was always too bad. How am I to hit your precise taste
in wickedness?"

"Oh, I ain't particular to a shade," said Lydia, "as you might know by my
helping you to deceive ma and your sister. But as to your goodness, I
don't believe in it: so there! Don't tell me! People don't give up all at
once, and go to bed at ten o'clock every night, and turn as good as all
that. It's my belief you mean to bolt. What have you been doing?"

"Look here, Lydia, I've told you once, and I tell you again: I want a
holiday, and I'm off for two or three days by myself--can't be tied to my
sister's apron-string all my life. But I would rather not have any fuss
about it, so I shall just go quietly, and send her a line when I've
started. I want you to get that portmanteau off, so that I may pick it up
at the station to-morrow morning. I _did_ think I might count on _you_,"
said Bertie with heartrending pathos: delicately-shaded acting would have
been wasted on Miss Bryant. "You've always been as true as steel. But it
seems I was mistaken. Well, no matter. If my sister makes a scene about
my going away, it can't be helped. Perhaps I was wrong to keep my little
secrets from her and trust them to any one else."

"I don't say that," Lydia replied. "P'raps others may do as well or better
by you."

"Thank you all the same for your former kindness," Bertie continued in a
tone of gentle resignation, ignoring her remark. "Since you won't, there
is nothing more to be said."

"What do you want to fly off in that fashion for?" said Lydia. "I'll see
about your portmanteau if this is all true--"

Bertie assumed an insulted-gentleman air: it was extremely lofty: "Oh, if
you doubt me, Miss Bryant--"

"Gracious me! You _are_ touchy!" exclaimed poor Lydia in perplexity and
distress.