is not probable—­you will have earned respect, and society is not as stern as it used to be.  And you will always have me for a friend.  There, that’s the bright side of it.  Of course it isn’t a bed of roses, but I’ve lived long enough to observe that the people who lie on roses don’t always have the happiest lives.  Whenever you want help and advice, I shall always be here, and from time to time I’ll be seeing you.  Isn’t that sensible?”

“Oh, Mrs. Maturin—­if you really want me—­still?”

“I do want you, Janet, even more than I did—­before, because you need me more,” Mrs. Maturin replied, with a sincerity that could not fail to bring conviction....

CHAPTER XXI

As the spring progressed, Janet grew stronger, became well again, and through the kindness of Dr. Ledyard, the principal, was presently installed with a typewriter in a little room in an old building belonging to the Academy in what was called Bramble Street, and not far from the Common.  Here, during the day, she industriously copied manuscripts’ or, from her notebook, letters dictated by various members of the faculty.  And she was pleased when they exclaimed delightedly at the flawless copies and failed to suspect her of frequent pilgrimages to the dictionary in the library in order to familiarize herself with the meaning and manner of spelling various academic words.  At first it was almost bewildering to find herself in some degree thus sharing the Silliston community life; and an unpremeditated attitude toward these learned ones, high priests of the muses she had so long ignorantly worshipped, accounted perhaps for a great deal in their attitude toward her.  Her fervour, repressed yet palpable, was like a flame burning before their altars—­a flattery to which the learned, being human, are quick to respond.  Besides, something of her history was known, and she was of a type to incite a certain amount of interest amongst these discerning ones.  Often, after she had taken their dictation, or brought their manuscripts home, they detained her in conversation.  In short, Silliston gave its approval to this particular experiment of Augusta Maturin.  As for Mrs. Maturin herself, her feeling was one of controlled pride not unmixed with concern, always conscious as she was of the hidden element of tragedy in the play she had so lovingly staged.  Not that she had any compunction in keeping Janet’s secret, even from Insall; but sometimes as she contemplated it the strings of her heart grew tight.  Silliston was so obviously where Janet belonged, she could not bear the thought of the girl going out again from this sheltered spot into a chaotic world of smoke and struggle.