"Nothing," she panted. "What is it you want?"

"You writin' poetry?"

Laura's eyes dilated; she looked dangerous.

"Oh, I don't care about your old book," said Hedrick, with an
amused nonchalance Talleyrand might have admired. "There's
callers, and you have to come down."

"Who sent you?"

"A man I've often noticed around the house," he replied
blightingly. "You may have seen him--I think his name's Madison.
His wife and he both sent for you."

One of Laura's hands instinctively began to arrange her hair, but
the other remained upon the book. "Who is it calling?"

"Richard Lindley and that Wade Trumble."

Laura rose, standing between her brother and the table. "Tell
mother I will come down."

Hedrick moved a little nearer, whereupon, observing his eye, she
put her right hand behind her upon the book. She was not deceived,
and boys are not only superb strategic actors sometimes, but
calamitously quick. Appearing to be unaware of her careful
defence, he leaned against the wall and crossed his feet in an
original and interesting manner.