"I suppose you have got a headache?"
"A little."
"That's because you will go and write poetry directly after lunch. Why it would even give me a headache!"
"I had an idea," said Susan plaintively.
"What does that matter? Ideas'll keep. You have just to make a note of them—put salt on their tails—and then go and take a walk. Indigestion, my dear—which is the plain English for your headache—is very bad for ideas. What have you been doing to your collar?"
And Lydia took hold of her sister, straightening her collar, pinning up her hair, and generally putting her to rights. When the operation was over, she gave a little pat to Susan's cheek and kissed her.
"You can come with us to Threlfall, that would take your headache away; and I don't mind the back seat."
"I wasn't asked," said Susan with dignity. "I shall go for a walk by myself. I want to think."
Lydia received the intimation respectfully, merely recommending her sister to keep out of the sun; and was hurrying into the house to fetch her hat when Susan detained her.
"Was that Lord Tatham who came just now?"