'Not a bit. Not a bit,' agreed Miss Entwhistle. Not even, she thought robustly, when it was a house with a recent dreadful history. Love--she hadn't herself experienced it, but what was an imagination for except to imagine with?--love was so strong an armour that nothing could reach one and hurt one through it. That was why lovers were so selfish. They sat together inside their armour perfectly safe, entirely untouchable, completely uninterested in what happened to the rest of the world. 'Besides,' she went on aloud, 'you'll alter it.' Lucy's smile at that was a little sickly. Aunt Dot's optimism seemed to her extravagant. She was unable to see herself altering The Willows. 'You'll have all your father's furniture and books to put about,' said Aunt Dot, continuing in optimism. 'Why, you'll be able to make the place really quite--quite----' She was going to say habitable, but ate another piece of toast instead. 'Yes, I expect I'll have the books here, anyhow,' said Lucy. 'There's a sitting-room upstairs with room in it.' 'Is there?' said Miss Entwhistle, suddenly very attentive. 'Lots of room. It's to be my sitting-room, and the books could go there. Except that--except that----' 'Except what?' asked Miss Entwhistle. 'I don't know. I don't much want to alter that room. It was Vera's.' 'I should alter it beyond recognition,' said Miss Entwhistle firmly. Lucy was silent. She felt too flabby, after her three days with a temperature, to engage in discussion with anybody firm. 'That's to say,' said Miss Entwhistle, 'if you like having the room at all. I should have thought----' 'Oh yes, I like having the room,' said Lucy, flushing. Then it was Miss Entwhistle who was silent; and she was silent because she didn't believe Lucy really could like having the actual room from which that unfortunate Vera met her death. It wasn't natural. The child couldn't mean it. She needed feeding up. Perhaps they had better not talk about rooms; not till Lucy was stronger. Perhaps they had better not talk at all, because everything they said was bound in the circumstances to lead either to Everard or Vera. 'Wouldn't you like me to read aloud to you a little while before you go back to bed?' she asked, when Lizzie came in to clear away the tea-things. Lucy thought this a very good idea. 'Oh do, Aunt Dot,' she said; for she too was afraid of what talking might lead to. Aunt Dot was phenomenally quick. Lucy felt she couldn't bear it, she simply couldn't bear it, if Aunt Dot were to think that perhaps Everard.... So she said quite eagerly, 'Oh do, Aunt Dot,' and not until she had said it did she remember that the books were locked up, and the key was on Everard's watch-chain. Then she sat looking up at Aunt Dot with a startled, conscience-stricken face. 'What is it, Lucy?' asked Miss Entwhistle, wondering why she had turned red.