"It's my belief," she said, "there wouldn't have been anything the matter with her if your Grandmamma Olivier hadn't spoiled her. Charlotte was as vain as a little peacock, and your Grandmamma was always petting and praising her and letting her have her own way." "If she'd had her own way she'd have been married, and then perhaps she wouldn't have gone mad." "She might have gone madder," said her mother. "It was a good thing for you, my dear, you didn't get your way. I'd rather have seen you in your coffin than married to Maurice Jourdain." "Whoever it had been, you'd have said that." "Perhaps I should. I don't want my only daughter to go away and leave me. It would be different if there were six or seven of you." Her mother's complacence and tranquillity annoyed her. She hated her mother. She adored her and hated her. Mamma had married for her own pleasure, for her passion. She had brought you into the world, without asking your leave, for her own pleasure. She had brought you into the world to be unhappy. She had planned for you to do the things that she did. She cared for you only as long as you were doing them. When you left off and did other things she left off caring. "I shall never go away and leave you," she said. She hated her mother and she adored her. An hour later, when she found her in the garden kneeling by the violet bed, weeding it, she knelt down beside her, and weeded too. VI. April, May, June. One afternoon before post-time her mother called her into the study to show her Mrs. Draper's letter. Mrs. Draper wrote about Dora's engagement and Effie's wedding. Dora was engaged to Hubert Manisty who would have Vinings. Effie had broken off her engagement to young Tom Manisty; she was married last week to Mr. Stuart-Gore, the banker. Mrs. Draper thought Effie had been very wise to give up young Manisty for Mr. Stuart-Gore. She wrote in a postscript: "Maurice Jourdain has just called to ask if I have any news of Mary. I think he would like to know that that wretched affair has not made her unhappy." Mamma was smiling in a nervous way. "What am I to say to Mrs. Draper?" "Tell her that Mr. Jourdain was right and that I am not at all unhappy." She was glad to take the letter to the post and set his mind at rest. It was in June last year that Maurice Jourdain had come to her: June the twenty-fourth. To-day was the twenty-fifth. He must have remembered. The hayfields shone, ready for mowing. Under the wind the shimmering hay grass moved like waves of hot air, up and up the hill. She slipped through the gap by Morfe Bridge and went up the fields to the road on Greffington Edge. She lay down among the bracken in the place where Roddy and she had sat two years ago when they had met Mr. Sutcliffe coming down the road. The bracken hid her. It made a green sunshade above her head. She shut her eyes. "Kikeriküh! sie glaubten Es wäre Hahnen geschrei."