Her carelessness in all the details of life sprang from her long muddled years at St.Dreots, the lack of a mother's guidance and education, the careless selfishness of her father's disregard of her.

She struggled, poor child, passionately to improve herself.

She sat for hours in her room working at her clothes, trying to mend her stockings, the holes in her blouses, the rip of the braid at the bottom of her skirt.

She waited listening for the cuckoo to call that she might be in exact time for luncheon or dinner, and then, as she listened, some thought would occur to her, and, although she did not dream, her definite tracking of her idea would lead her to forget all time.

Soon there would be Martha's knock on the door and her surly ill-tempered voice: "Quarter of an hour they've been sitting at luncheon, Miss." And her clothes! The aunts had said that she must buy what was necessary, and she had gone with Aunt Elizabeth to choose all the right things.