But she felt that it was all a kind of dumb-show, and that under it nothing could change the person she was or the real feeling she had about this--nothing except being first.

Ah! then she could be generous and loyal and disinterested; then she could be really a nice person to know, she derided herself.

And as her foot touched the little hand-bag on the floor she took a kind of sullen courage, which deserted her when she folded the paper on her lap and was struck again in the face with Lash and Black's advertisement on the outside page announcing Janet's novel in letters that looked half a foot long.
Then she resigned herself to her wretchedness till the train sped into the glory of Paddington.
"I hope you're not bad, miss," remarked the small boy's mother as they pushed toward the door together; "them Banburys don't agree with everybody." The effect upon Elfrida was hysterical.

She controlled herself just long enough to answer with decent gravity, and escaped upon the platform to burst into a silent quivering paroxysm of laughter that brought her overcharged feeling delicious relief, and produced an answering smile on the face of a large, good-looking policeman.

Her laugh rested her, calmed her, and restored something of her moral tone.