"I'd give a good deal to see you break your heart!" said the tragedienne, her dark eyes kindling—"you'd be just splendid!"
"Thanks, awfully! There's the pony."
Susan held her.
"You're really going to the Tower?"
"I am. It's mean of me. When you hate a man, you oughtn't to go to his house. But I can't help it. I'm so curious."
"Yes, but not about Mr. Melrose," said Susan slowly.
Lydia flushed suddenly from brow to chin.
"Goose! let me go."
Susan let her go, and then stood a while, absorbed, looking at the mysterious Tower. Her power of visualization was uncannily strong; it amounted almost to second sight. She seemed to be in the Tower—in one of its locked and shuttered rooms; to be looking at a young man stretched on a sofa—a wizardlike figure in a black cloak standing near—and in the doorway, Lydia entering, bringing the light on her fair hair….