Miss Ramsay left the room.  Ann shed a few tears, and then, seeing there was no help for it, applied herself with all her might and main to learning her appointed task.  She got her poetry by heart after a fashion, and, hastily replacing the book in the bookcase, ran out of the schoolroom.  She saw Lucy and Mary pacing up and down the terrace in front of the house.  They were in clean white frocks, with sashes round their waists, and their hair was very trimly brushed and curled over their heads.  Their faces shone from soap and water, and even at that distance Ann could perceive that their hands were painfully, terribly clean.  In her heart of hearts Ann hated clean hands; they meant so much that was unpleasant—­they meant that there must be no grubbing in the garden, no searching for dear little weeds and small flowers, and all kinds of delicious, unexpected things in mother earth.  In her heart of hearts Ann had a spark of originality of her own, but it had little chance of flourishing under the treatment so carefully pursued at Super-Ashton.

Philip and Conrad might also be seen on the terrace in their clean linen blouses and fresh knickerbockers; their hands were also carefully washed, their hair brushed back from their faces, the faces themselves shining from soap and water.

“Oh, dear! there’s no help for it,” thought little Ann, “I must go into the nursery and let Simpson pull me about.  How she will scrub me and tug at my hair, and put on such a horrid starched dress, and it’s so hot to-night!  Well, if I hurry I may be in time to tell Philip what I know about their names.  Oh, how delicious it will be!  He’ll be so excited.  Yes, I’ll be as quick as possible.”

Ann ran down the long passage which led from the schoolroom to the nursery, opened the door, and approached a prim old servant with a somewhat cross face, who was busily engaged mending stockings.

“Please, Simpson, here I am.  Will you dress me?” said Ann, panting as she spoke.

Simpson laid down her work with deliberation.

“Now, I wonder, Miss Ann,” she said, “why I am to be put about for you.  I have just finished dressing all the other children.  Why didn’t you come with the others?  There, miss, you must just dress yourself, for I can’t and won’t be worried; these stockings must be finished before the mistress comes home.”

“All right,” answered Ann, in a cheerful tone.  “I can wash myself beautifully.  May I go into the night-nursery, please, Simpson, and do my best?”

“Yes, my dear.  You’ll find a white frock hanging in the wardrobe.  I’ll fasten it for you after you have washed yourself and combed out your hair.  Now, do be quick.  I would help you willingly, Miss Ann, only I really have not a minute to spare; Master Philip and Master Conrad are dreadful with their socks, and when the mistress comes with that fresh family, goodness knows when I shall have a moment to see to your clothes again.”