"Are there no ladders to be found in this benighted and over-cultivated region?"

"Plenty; but I can't tell you where they are."

Antonia knitted her brows. Nan gazed at her curiously. It was really interesting to have something to do with a person who wanted a ladder.

What was she going to do with it?

"I must climb without," said Antonia. "I wonder are there creepers."

"What do you want with it?" said Nan in quite a friendly tone.

"I want to get into Susan Drummond's room by her window."

"Oh, dear, what fun!" Nan's eyes danced.

"She is sound asleep," pursued Antonia, "and I propose to use the wet sponge with effect."

"They did that at school," replied Nan. "How lovely! Oh, how perfectly lovely! I'm sure I can help you to find a ladder. Come round with me to the farmyard."

Nan held out her hand, which Antonia grasped. They rushed across the lawn helter-skelter, and in an incredibly short s.p.a.ce of time a ladder was leaning up against Susy's window. Nan held it from below while Antonia climbed. The next moment she had entered the room.

"Thank you heartily, Nan," she called to the little girl.

She made a good deal of noise, but Susy, lying on her back in the centre of the big bed, was impervious to sound. Antonia filled the sponge with cold water, and, standing at the foot of the bed, dashed it at Susy. The first application only made the sleeper groan and snore heavily, but at the second she opened her eyes, and at the third she sat up.

"Now, what is the matter?" she exclaimed. "Am I back at that detestable school with the she-dragon once more? Oh, Antonia, what in the world are you doing here?"

"Sponging you," said Antonia. "I have something to say, so wake up."

"Wake up?" replied Susy. "I should think I am awake. Who could stand such barbarous treatment? I was so comfortable, and I had locked the door to make all things perfectly safe. How in the world did you get into the room?"

"By a ladder, through the open window. Now pray don't waste any more time over trivial details. I have come here to have a serious talk with you."

"Why serious, Tony? You know how I hate grave subjects."

"I have come to have a quiet talk with you about the Towers; you can sit there, just where you are. Don't dry your hair, or you'll get sleepy again. I'll keep a basin of cold water near me and sponge you whenever you wink an eyelid. Now then, what do you think of the Towers?"

"I have scarcely seen it yet."

"You must have a first impression; what is it?"

"Really, Tony, you needn't have awakened me and gone to the trouble of a ladder, and an open window, and a sponge, for the sake of hearing my first impressions."

"That's neither here nor there," answered Antonia. "What do you think of the Towers?"

"Oh, it's well enough; it seems to be a very old place."

"Didn't it strike you that the rooms were musty?"

"Well, yes; now that you mention it, I thought they were decidedly musty."

"It will be impossible," said Antonia, "for you to turn the Towers into a proper Moresque or Libertyesque house."

"I thought you liked the place; you seemed so delighted with the briars."

"The briars are well enough, and so is the china; it's the rooms I complain of; they never can be reduced to high art--your sort of high art, I mean, Susy. But now, tell me, did you do much measuring?"

"No, I didn't; a dreadful woman came with me; she quite frightened me, and spoke a lot about the Lorrimers, and a ghost in the tower."

"Well, of course there'd be a ghost in the tower," continued Antonia; "an old place like that couldn't exist without its ghost."

"I don't believe a bit in ghosts," said Susy. "No sensible people believe in them; there are no such things. You know that, of course, Antonia."

Susy looked uncomfortable while she spoke, and Antonia knew well that she was an arrant coward.

"You don't believe in ghosts either," continued Susy; "do you now, Tony?"

"Oh, but I do," answered Antonia; "I believe in them profoundly. I have Shakespeare for my authority on the subject."

"And you really think that--that the Towers is haunted?"

"No doubt whatever on the subject. If you don't want to be convinced against your will, you must choose a bedroom in the most modern part of the house, and avoid the old tower, with its funny, quaint little rooms.

Frankly, I am disappointed in the Towers as a place for _you_--the rooms are not your sort--you want great, lofty, bright, modern rooms. I don't like that musty smell either; it points to damp somewhere. Then, it is scarcely likely that the water supply is perfect; those old wells are full of danger, and you once had typhoid, don't you remember? Your father will have to spend a lot on the place before he makes it anything like what your sort of high art requires; and when all is said and done, you'd be lonely there. You know I'm perfectly frank; you know that well, don't you?"

"Yes, Tony," answered poor Susy in a most melancholy voice. "Oh, please don't throw any more sponges at me; I am quite shivering, and your words make me feel so melancholy. But why should I be lonely at the Towers; there are plenty of neighbours all around?"

"That is true, but I don't believe you'll care for them, nor they for you: they are the Lorrimer sort, and the Miss Macalister sort, and the Hester Thornton sort. You know you don't care for those sorts of people, do you?"

"I'm sure I don't. I hate them. I wish father hadn't bought the Towers without consulting me."

"Can't he back out of it?"

"Back out of his bargain? What do you mean?"

"I mean what I say; can't he get out of it? The Towers isn't a bit the sort of place for you; it isn't even healthy for a girl like you.

There's a ghost there, and ground damp, and bad water, and the neighbours aren't sociable, and you'll be moped to death."

"How perfectly miserable you make me, Tony, but I won't be quite friendless, for you'll be here most of the time now, won't you?"

"Not I; I am going back to my atelier in Paris. Do you think I'd live in a poky corner of the world like this?"

"What shall I do?" echoed Susy. "I think you're very unkind to make me so wretched and to depress me in the way you are doing. The Towers is bought now, and we must make the best of it."

"I only hope you won't suffer the consequences of this piece of folly,"

retorted Antonia with spirit. "The Towers is not the place for you, and you ought to persuade your father to get out of that bargain. Let him take a nice cheerful villa at Richmond; that's where you ought to live."

"I wish he would," said Susy; "but it's a great deal too late, a great deal too late to draw back now. Besides, we did so want to be county people."

"You'll never be county people, whatever that jargon means--that is, you'll never be like the Lorrimers and the Thorntons. You don't want to be, do you?"