"I haven't messed it up. On the contrary"--Ellen's vexation was breaking through her sense of guilt--"I'm doing the best I can to make it look decent. Since you say you've done it specially for me and spent all that money on it, I think at least you might have consulted my taste a little." "And what is your taste, ma'am?" "A bit quieter than yours," said Ellen saucily. "There are about six different shades of red and pink in this room." "And what shades would you have chosen, may I be so bold as to ask?" Joanna's voice dragged ominously with patience--"the same shade as your last night's gownd, which is the colour of the mould on jam? I'll have the colours I like in my own house--I'm sick of your dentical, die-away notions. You come home from school thinking you know everything, when all you've learned is to despise my best pictures, and say my curtains clash with the carpet, when I chose 'em for a nice match. I tell you what, ma'am, you can just about put them curtains back, and them pictures, and that certificate of poor father's that you're so ashamed of." "I want to put my own pictures up," said Ellen doggedly--"if I've got to live with your carpet and wallpaper, I don't see why I shouldn't have my own pictures." Joanna swept her eye contemptuously over "The Vigil," "Sir Galahad," "The Blessed Damozel," and one or two other schoolgirl favourites that were lying on the bed. "You can stick those up as well--there ain't such a lot." "But can't you see, Joanna, that there are too many pictures on the wall already?--It's simply crowded with them. Really, you're an obstinate old beast," and Ellen began to cry. Joanna fought back in herself certain symptoms of relenting. She could not bear to see Ellen cry, but on the other hand she had "fixed up" this room for Ellen--she had had it furnished and decorated for her--and now Ellen must and should appreciate it. She should not be allowed to disguise and bowdlerize it to suit the unwelcome tastes she had acquired at school. The sight of her father's Buffalo certificate, lying face downwards on the cupboard floor, gave strength to her flagging purpose. "You pick that up and hang it in its proper place." "I won't." "You will." "I won't! Why should I have that hideous thing over my bed?" "Because it was your father's, and you should ought to be proud of it." "It's some low drinking society he belonged to, and I'm not proud--I'm ashamed." Joanna boxed her ears. "You don't deserve to be his daughter, Ellen Godden, speaking so. It's you that's bringing us all to shame--thank goodness you've left school, where you learned all that tedious, proud nonsense. You hang those pictures up again, and those curtains, and you'll keep this room just what I've made it for you."