"Oh, not you, darling, at any rate," said Annie, kissing her friend. "Poor May! that is the very last thing you could ever be." "I know you think me very stupid," said Mabel in an offended tone. "It is too awful to give a girl the imputation of a genius, when you know all the time that she is an absolute fool." "A very pretty one, at any rate," said Annie, kissing her friend again. "You're not offended, silly May, because I said you were not a satirist? Why, a satirist is an _awful_ creature, dreaded by everybody. A satirist is a person who makes fun of her best friends. Now, you would never make fun of your own Annie, would you?" "No, indeed! I am glad I am not a satirist," said May. "What a horror those girls must think me!" "Go to by-by now, May, and leave me to settle things for you," said Annie; and she crept back to her own bed. CHAPTER EIGHT. A TOUCH OF THE SUN. Towards morning a thought came to Annie. She could not quite tell when it first darted through her brain. Perhaps it came in a dream. She was never quite certain, but it certainly caused her to jump, and it made her heart beat tumultuously. "I wonder," she said aloud; and then she added, "The very thing!" Then she said once more, "I will do it, or my name is not Annie Brooke." That morning the mistress and the girls missed the pleasant face of Annie Brooke from the breakfast-table. Mabel Lushington, as her greatest friend, was begged to go to her room to see if anything was the matter. She tapped at Annie's door. A very faint reply came, and Mabel entered in much consternation. She found her friend lying in bed, a handkerchief wrung out of eau-de-Cologne and water on her brow, her hair dishevelled, her face pale. "Oh Annie, you are ill!" said poor Mabel. "What is wrong?" "My head, dear; it aches so badly." "Oh, I am sorry!" said Mabel. "Mrs Lyttelton sent me upstairs to know what is wrong." "Tell her she must not be at all alarmed," said Annie. "It is just one of my very worst headaches, no more. I sha'n't be able to do any lessons to-day. But I will creep out into the garden presently. I want air and perfect quiet. I'll get into one of the hammocks in the garden and lie there. Tell them all not to be a bit anxious, for I know what I want is rest." "You do look bad," said Mabel. "Dear Annie, I know I am the cause of it." "You are most truly," thought Annie under her breath. But aloud she said, "No, dear, not at all; I am subject to headaches." "I never knew you with one before," said Mabel. "I have kept them to myself, darling; but Mrs Lyttelton knows, for I told her. This is just worse than the others, and I can't keep it to myself. If Miss Phillips likes to come up, she might bring me a cup of tea and a little toast. I couldn't eat anything else, indeed. Now, love, go down; don't be distressed; your Annie will be all right in the afternoon."