"Yes," I managed to gasp, "the school of adversity."
"And a mighty good school, too, for a sport. Do you know it?"
"But, Lydia," I began, "what in the name of—?"
"Sh-h! Don't swear," was all she said, as taking Boosey's parcel she opened Vio's door. Going in softly she closed it behind her.
Once more Boosey's expression dramatized my situation. That the master of the house in which he exercised his functions—even such a master as I—should be called "kid" by a girl like Lydia created a social topsyturvydom defying all his principles. For perceptible seconds he stared in an astonishment mingled with disdain, after which he turned on his heel to tell the news in the kitchen.
But I was too puzzled by Lydia's reappearance to tear myself away. What had she to do with Vio? How did she get the right to go in and out of Vio's room with this matter-of-course authority?
In a corner of the hall, beside the window looking over the Common, was an armchair in which Vio often sat when taking her breakfast up-stairs and glancing over her correspondence. I sank into it now, and waited. Sooner or later Lydia must come out again.
This she did, some twenty minutes later, dainty and nonchalant.
"Lydia," I cried, springing to my feet, "what in the name of Heaven are you doing here?"
"You see."