The time which I should have spent in arranging my toilet passed in gazing at my mother’s portrait.  It was one of the loveliest faces imaginable.  The features may not have been perfect according to rule of thumb, but the expression was simply angelic—­sweet, winning, gentle, and happy.  I turned from the contemplation of it to another photograph—­one of my father—­in a silver frame on the dressing-table.  This, too, was a fine countenance, possessed of well-cut features and refined expression.  This was the prince who had won Lucy Bossier from her home.  I looked around my pretty bedroom—­it had been my mother’s in the days of her maidenhood.  In an exclusive city boarding-school, and amid the pleasant surroundings of this home, her youth had been spent.

I thought of a man and his wife at Possum Gully.  The man was blear-eyed, disreputable in appearance, and failed to fulfil his duties as a father and a citizen.  The woman was work-roughened and temper-soured by endless care and an unavailing struggle against poverty.  Could that pair possibly be identical with this?

This was life as proved by my parents!  What right had I to expect any better yield from it?  I shut my eyes and shuddered at the possibilities and probabilities of my future.  It was for this that my mother had yielded up her youth, freedom, strength; for this she had sacrificed the greatest possession of woman.

Here I made my way to the dining-room, where grannie was waiting for me and gave me another hug.

“Come here, child, and sit beside me near the fire; but first let me have a look at you,” and she held me at arm’s length.

“Dear, oh, dear, what a little thing you are, and not a bit like any of your relations!  I am glad your skin is so nice and clear; all my children had beautiful complexions.  Goodness me, I never saw such hair!  A plait thicker than my arm and almost to your knees!  It is that beautiful bright brown like your aunt’s.  Your mother’s was flaxen.  I must see your hair loose when you are going to bed.  There is nothing I admire so much as a beautiful head of hair.”

The maid announced that dinner was ready, grannie vigorously rang a little bell, aunt Helen, a lady, and a gentleman appeared from the drawing-room, and Mr Hawden came in from the back.  I discovered that the lady and gentleman were a neighbouring squatter and a new governess he was taking home.  Grannie, seeing them pass that afternoon in the rain, had gone out and prevailed upon them to spend the night at Caddagat.

Mr Hawden took no notice of me now, but showed off to the others for my benefit.  After dinner we had music and singing in the drawing-room.  I was enjoying it immensely, but grannie thought I had better go to bed, as I had been travelling since about midnight last night.  I was neither tired nor sleepy, but knew it useless to protest, so bade every one good night and marched off.  Mr Hawden acknowledged my salute with great airs and stiffness, and aunt Helen whispered that she would come and see me by and by, if I was awake.