She was, however, more in the mood for a lark now—not necessarily with a young man—than she had ever been in her life before. "Cau-ston a vingt-quatr'ans—elle coiffe déjà Sainte Catherine," the remorseless Pigou had said: oh, had she? Did she? Moreover, you cannot put yourself gloomily into Coventry; others must be made to see that you consider your sequestration the most desirable of conditions. Indeed, she had said as much to Richenda Earle only the night before.
Richenda was the only one of the girls who slept indoors, and Louie, carrying her bed-trappings out from the house, had come upon Richenda by the little green door of the espaliered wall that led to the orchards. Richenda had made an advance, willing, apparently, to forget the snub Louie had administered after the "Life and Battles" revelation, and had offered to carry her pillow for her.
"Why do you go so far?" she had asked, as they had left the orchard behind.
"Oh, I hate being disturbed," Louie had replied. "I'd go right down to the shore if it wasn't for the climb up again."
"But suppose you wanted anything during the night?"
"What should I want?"
"Of course, I forgot. You don't have headaches. I have—frightful ones."
"Then why don't you come out too? There's quite a jolly place here. I'd help you to carry your things."
"Oh, I've got to read," Richenda had shaken her head.
"You'd be heaps better for it——"