"Dear Lord Brayton"—
(Lucia paused for a moment: she must have some perfectly prosaic reason for writing. She soon thought of one)—
"I am sending you back your copy of Omar, with many thanks. As a matter of fact, I have not really quite finished transferring the alterations into my own copy, and I shall venture to ask you to lend it me again in the autumn. The fact is that both my aunts are feeling rather pulled down with this stuffy weather, and I have persuaded them to pack up at once and go to Littlestone for their holiday, instead of waiting another fortnight here, and I simply dare not take your precious book to seaside lodgings. So many thanks for the loan of it!
"I long sometimes to hear more of your schemes. It all seemed so big and wonderful, and it will all be true, the most beautiful fairy story that ever happened.
"I must go; Aunt Cathie is calling me, who is in the throes of packing. The dear always leaves out what she particularly wants to take, and must be superintended.
"Sincerely yours,
"Lucia Grimson."
The rough copy was after all quite unnecessary. Lucia read it through twice, found nothing to alter, and having made a fair copy of it and a neat parcel of Omar, put the two carefully away until it was certain that they would start to-morrow.
"That ought to produce something if there is anything to produce," she observed frankly. "Now about Maud."
The answer to the telegram had been satisfactory, and one morning a few days later Lucia was sitting on the sands just to the east of the single row of houses that fronts the sea at Littlestone, letting her hair dry in the sun and wind after her bath. The sand, trodden by the wavelet feet of the outgoing tide, was wet and shiny, and covered with little ripples, while beyond stretched the great pearly levels of the sea, basking and vacant. After the confined heat of Brixham, the warm salt breezes and fresh heat of the seaside was unspeakably invigorating; and this morning, while Lucia bathed, Aunt Cathie, in the glow of rejuvenation, had pulled off her boots and stockings, tucked up her skirts, and had magisterially waded nearly up to her large knees, heedless of the scorn of Elizabeth, who warned her of the danger of cold salt water to the aged.
