"You are the ugliest, the crossest, most stupid, awkward creature I ever did come near; and so I tell you plainly, Juliet Mitchell. Since you came into this house not a thing but what is tiresome have you done. Why, if your aunt was to jaw you from morning to night you would do no better; and you can't stand being jawed, you know. And your aunt just looks at you in a way that is more piercing than if she was to talk for weeks! And your uncle, he's your own mother's own brother; but there! he'd be glad enough if you was to take yourself off. And that's about the best thing you can do. Take yourself off and get your own living like other girls of your age. Nobody wants you, here or in London. There's a many little places going; and when you've shown that you can take care of yourself and don't want none of their advice, nor none of their money either, then won't they be pleased to get a letter from you!" Like many another young girl--ay, and boy too--Juliet had a great notion of independence--of getting away from advice and restraint, and of earning money for herself. In London more than in the country, girls go off and engage themselves as servants or in some other capacity, and so start alone in the world like little boats putting out on a stormy sea without sail or oar, rudder or compass. And many, many are wrecked on the first rock; and many go through wild tempests and suffer terrible hardships. A few battle through the winds and waves and reach a happy shore. Had Juliet asked advice of anyone, or had she knelt and implored guidance from her Heavenly Father, she would not have made the mad resolve which now shaped itself in her mind. It was the resolve to go away from Littlebourne Lock, on that side of the river which she knew least--away from her relations, from the village, from the church, from the railway, to find a situation with some stranger in a place where no one knew her; in a word, to provide for herself. As her resolve grew more fixed she felt calmer, and even pleased. Smiles began to flicker over her features; and when she next looked in the glass she murmured to her reflection, "I say, you ain't so bad-looking after all!" A knock on the door roused her. Mrs. Rowles came in. The good aunt sat down on the foot of the bed and drew the girl towards her, putting her motherly arm round the little figure, and smoothing the ruffled hair. Mrs. Rowles went on to explain to Juliet the great danger which she had run, and the extreme naughtiness of flat disobedience; and all the while Juliet stood with a calm face and silent manner, so that her aunt thought she was penitent. But this quietness was caused by her having so fully made up her mind as to what she would do next. She let Mrs. Rowles speak on, and appeared meek and humble; but in reality her thoughts were not on anything that she heard.