The determining factor in her mind, over this abandonment of her London career, to which in a few days, by incessant battering, she had got Pepino to consent, was Pepino himself. He could not be with her in London, and she could not leave him week after week (for nothing less than that, if you were to make any solid progress in London, was any good) alone in Riseholme. But a large factor, also, was the discovery of how little at present she counted for in Riseholme, and that could not be tolerated. Riseholme had deposed her, Riseholme was not intending to be managed by her from Brompton Square. The throne was vacant, for poor Daisy, and for the matter of that poor Georgie, were not the sort of people who could occupy thrones at all. She longed to queen it there again, and though she was aware that her utmost energies would be required, what were energies for except to get you what you wanted? Just now she was nothing in Riseholme: they had been sorry for her because Pepino had been so ill, but as his steady convalescence proceeded, and she began to ring people up, and pop in, and make plans for them, she became aware that she mattered no more than Piggy and Goosie.... There on the Green, as she saw from the window of her hall, was Daisy, whirling her arms madly, and hitting a ball with a stick which had a steel blade at the end, and Georgie, she was rather horrified to observe, was there too, trying to do the same. Was Daisy reaping the reward of her persistence, and getting somebody interested in golf? And, good heavens, there were Piggy and Goosie also smacking away. Riseholme was clearly devoting itself to golf. “I shall have to take to golf,” thought Lucia. “What a bore! Such a foolish game.” At this moment a small white ball bounded over her yew-hedge, and tapped smartly against the front door. “What an immense distance to have hit a ball,” she thought. “I wonder which of them did that?” It was soon clear, for Daisy came tripping through the garden after it, and Lucia, all smiles, went out to meet her. “Good morning, dear Daisy,” she said. “Did you hit that ball that immense distance? How wonderful! No harm done at all. But what a splendid player you must be!” “So sorry,” panted Daisy, “but I thought I would have a hit with a driver. Very wrong of me; I had no idea it would go so far or so crooked.” “A marvellous shot,” said Lucia. “I remember how beautifully you putted. And this is all part of golf too? Do let me see you do it again.” Daisy could not reproduce that particular masterpiece, but she sent the ball high in the air, or skimming along the ground, and explained that one was a lofted shot, and the other a wind-cheater. “I like the wind-cheater best,” said Lucia. “Do let me see if I can do that.”