"I have one of my young brothers coming home on leave," Thorold said as he wished her good-bye. "He's in the navy; he comes to me next Thursday. I think you'll like him. Godwin is a sunny-hearted youngster." Gentian rounded her lips into a small ball. "Boys are so boring," she said; "they always think such a lot of themselves." "I have known girls who do the same," said Thorold, and with this parting shot, he left her. Gentian went indoors to Miss Ward. "Do you know I was within an ace of liking Cousin Thorold," she said; "and then he lapsed into his annoying way of talking, and I feel as if I never want to see him again!" "My dear Gentian, you are never of the same mind about anything or anybody for two minutes together. I often wonder why you put up with me as you do." "Waddy dear, you knew and loved my little mother. I have no one in the wide world left to love me but you, and I think you do just a little—" Miss Ward looked at her affectionately, but she was not a demonstrative woman, and it wasn't till Gentian stole up softly to her and put her arms round her neck, looking into her eyes with such wistful longing, that she gave her the warm kiss she was expecting. "Plenty of people will come along and love you, child, if you let them. I am getting an old woman, and my life will soon be over, but yours is all in front of you—and you'll never have to complain of being unloved, I am sure!" "Do I think a lot of myself, Waddy?" "Yes, I think you do." Gentian hugged her. "You are a dear old truth-teller. You see, I really have no one to think about but myself. And it is astonishing how fond all people are of themselves. I believe you are, but you don't show it. Of course I have to think about myself, because my future is in my own hands, I suppose. I can make or mar it, can't I? And I want to get the best out of life. I must—I will. And it's my will that must be kept up to the mark— "'The souls of women are so small That some believe they've none at all. Or if they have, like cripples still, They've but one faculty, the WILL!' "Some nasty man wrote that. Oh, Waddy dear, you're quite right. I'm one thing one day, and another the next. My small soul is like a bag of scraps, crammed full of rubbish, bits of good material mixed with the bad, and never properly sorted out. Now I'm going to water the garden. Good-bye." She flashed out of the room and into the garden. Miss Ward heard her breaking into song as she wielded her watering-pot, and she sighed heavily. "I wish I did not love her so much," she murmured; "she needs a firmer hand, and some one to teach her discipline and self-control."