y sorry? Much encouraged by the idea Susan hesitated no
longer, but marched boldly in. There was Sophia Jane lying flat on the
big black box, face downwards, her little frame shaken with stormy sobs,
which she tried in vain to control. As Susan entered she raised her
head for an instant, and then turned from her to the wall.

Susan perched herself on the end of the box and sat silent for a moment
before she said gently:

"What's the matter?"

"Go away!" sobbed Sophia Jane. "I'm very poorly. My head aches."

"Let me put wet rags on it," said Susan eagerly. "I've done it often
for Freddie. I'll fetch Aunt Hannah's eau de Cologne. It'll soon make
it better."

Sophia Jane turned her head round from the wall and fixed two inflamed
blue eyes upon her companion.

"I'm not crying," she said, "but I'm very poorly. The sun made my eyes
water when we were out this afternoon, and my head aches."

"I'll soon do it good," said Susan.

She jumped off the box and ran down-stairs, quickly returning with some
eau de Cologne mixed with water in a tumbler, and a clean
pocket-handkerchief.

Sophia Jane was quieter now, and lay watching her preparations with some
satisfaction, though her chest heaved now and then, and she blinked her
red eyelids as though the light hurt them. When the cool bandage was
put on her forehead she gave a sigh of comfort, and rested her head on
Susan's lap as she sat behind her on the edge of the box.

"I'll tell you something," she said presently.

"I _was_ crying. I'm dreadfully, dreadfully sorry you're going away."

"I'm glad you're sorry," said Susan, "because I was afraid you didn't
mind."

"Everyone's going away but me," went on Sophia Jane. "Monsieur and
Mademoiselle and Gambetta and you. Everyone I like. There's no one
left. I don't think I can bear it. What shall I do?"

A tear rolled from under the bandage.

"There'll be Aunt Hannah," said Susan.

"I only like her pretty well," said Sophia Jane. "I could easily do
without her. I used not to like anyone at all; but now I do, they're
all going away."

"Well," said Susan, casting about in her mind for some crumb of comfort,
"I shall write to you when I get home, and tell you everything once
every week, and you must write to me."

"You'll forget," said Sophia Jane in a miserable voice.

"I _never_ forget," answered Susan firmly. "And then there's another
thing--I mean to ask Mother to ask you to come and stay with me