Lucia, indeed, seemed in no need whatever of complete rest the next day. She popped into Daisy’s very soon after breakfast, and asked to be taught how to put. Daisy gave her a demonstration, and told her how to hold the putter and where to place her feet, and said it was absolutely essential to stand like a rock and to concentrate. Nobody could put if anyone spoke. Eventually Lucia was allowed to try, and she stood all wrong and grasped her putter like an umbrella, and holed out of the longest of puts in the middle of an uninterrupted sentence. Then they had a match, Daisy proposing to give her four strokes in the round, which Lucia refused, and Daisy, dithering with excitement and superiority, couldn’t put at all. Lucia won easily, with Robert looking on, and she praised Daisy’s putter, and said it was beautifully balanced, though where she picked that up Daisy couldn’t imagine. “And now I must fly,” said Lucia, “and we must have a return match sometime. So amusing! I have sent for a set, and you will have to give me lessons. Good-bye, dear Daisy. I’m away for the Sunday at dear Adele Brixton’s, but after that how lovely to settle down at Riseholme again! You must show me your ouija-board too. I feel quite rested this morning. Shall I help you with the walking-sticks later on?” Daisy went uneasily back to her putting: it was too awful that Lucia in that amateurish manner should have beaten a serious exponent of the art, and already, in dark anticipation, she saw Lucia as the impresario of clock-golf, popularizing it in Riseholme. She herself would have to learn to drive and approach without delay, and make Riseholme take up real golf, instead of merely putting. Lucia visited the Museum next, and arranged the spit in an empty and prominent place between Daisy’s fossils and Colonel Boucher’s fragments of Samian ware. She attended the morning parliament on the Green, and walked beside Mrs. Boucher’s bath-chair. She shouted into Mrs. Antrobus’s ear-trumpet, she dallied with Piggy and Goosie, and never so much as mentioned a duchess. All her thoughts seemed wrapped up in Riseholme; just one tiresome visit lay in front of her, and then, oh, the joy of settling down here again! Even Mrs. Boucher felt disarmed; little as she would have thought it, there was something in Lucia beyond mere snobbery.