Now, if the truth must be known, hateful as the morning had been, there had also been a sort of feeling of enjoyment. The things that had been bought were good, and I was to be no longer a shabby girl. When I remembered the dark-brown skirt of uncertain make and by no means uncertain length, with the brick-red blouse which had been my proud possession such a very short time ago, I could not help smiling to myself at the vastness of the contrast. But, alas and alack! why was I so perverse that I thought I would welcome that skirt and hideous blouse if only I might be back again in the old days? But would I? Could I have this afternoon to myself, I should have a certain satisfaction in going to see the Swans, and inviting them back to tea, which I was always permitted to do, and giving them an account of my ravishing chinchilla, my beautiful fox, my dark-blue costume, and my new hats. What would they not feel? I fairly believed that they would begin to see beauty in my small and insignificant eyes, in my _retrousse_ nose, in my somewhat wide mouth. "Oh, riches, riches!" I muttered under my breath. "As you did not get the dress I expected you to get before Christmas, Rachel," said my step-mother during lunch-time, "I have ordered the dark-blue costume and the grey hat and the grey furs to be sent home immediately, for I am going to visit some special friends of mine this afternoon, and I want you to accompany me." "Oh, but twice in the carriage!" I said. "I am sorry. To-morrow we will do a lot of walking. I have heaps to do, and I love a tramp on my feet, as you know. I won't have the carriage at all to-morrow; we'll walk until we are fit to drop. But go and amuse yourself, dear, for the carriage will not be round again until four o'clock." I went away to my room. The little gas-stove was alight and the room was warm and comfortable. I went and stood by the window and looked round the apartment. It had been made so elegant, so sweet, so fresh for me. Then I glanced at the bed; it was covered with parcels--great big boxes, small boxes, parcels made up in brown-paper. What girl can resist an unopened parcel? Not even Rachel Grant. I began to take out my wonderful possessions, to look at them, to examine them. In themselves they were fascinating, but the sting lay in the fact that they had been given me by her. They all seemed to be witnesses against the miniature--the dear miniature which was fading and fading out of every one's memory. "The only person in this house," I said to myself, "who has a grain of sense is poor old Hannah." Just as the thought floated through my brain the door was opened and Hannah came in. "I had a few minutes to spare, and I thought I'd just steal in and have a talk with you now. She's downstairs talking to a visitor--drat her! say I. Now then, Miss Dumps, what is it? You tell me, and as quick as you can."