The white marabou feather nodded. Her gentle mauve and sallow face was growing old, with soft curdlings and puckerings of the skin; but she still carried her head high, nodding at you with her air of gaiety, of ineffable intrigue. "I wouldn't bring you, Mary, if I didn't feel sure." If she had not felt sure she wouldn't have put on the grey kid gloves, the mantle and the bonnet with the white marabou feather. You don't dress like that to go shopping in Durlingham. "You mean," Mary said, "that we shall see him." Her heart beat calmly, stilled by the sheer incredibility of the adventure. "Of course we shall see him. Mrs. Smythe-Caulfield will manage that. It might have been a little difficult if the Professor had been staying anywhere else. But I know Mrs. Smythe-Caulfield very well. No doubt she's arranged for you to have a long talk with him." "Does she know what I want to see him about?" "Well--yes--I thought it best, my dear, to tell her just what you told me, so that she might see how important it is.... There's no knowing what may come of it.... Did you bring them with you?" "No, I didn't. If he won't look at them I should feel such an awful fool." "Perhaps," said Miss Kendal, "it is wiser not to assume beforehand. Nothing may come of it. Still, I can't help feeling something will.... When you're famous, Mary, I shall think of how we went into Durlingham together." "Whatever comes of it I shall think of _you_." The marabou feather quivered slightly. "How long have we known each other?" "Seventeen years." "Is it so long?... I shall never forget the first day you came with your mother. I can see you now, Mary, sitting beside my poor father with your hand on his chair.... And that evening when you played to us, and dear Mr. Roddy was there...." She thought: "Why can't I be kind--always? Kindness matters more than anything. Some day she'll die and she'll never have said or thought one unkind thing in all her poor, dreadful little life.... Why didn't I go to tea with her on Wednesday?" On Wednesday her mind had revolted against its destiny of hunger. She had hated Morfe. She had felt angry with her mother for making her live in it, for expecting her to be content, for thinking that Dorsy and Miss Louisa and Miss Kendal were enough. She had been angry with Aunt Lavvy for talking about her to Miss Kendal. Yet if it weren't for Miss Kendal she wouldn't be going into Durlingham to see Professor Lee Ramsden. Inconceivable that she should be taken by Miss Kendal to see Professor Lee Ramsden. Yet this inconceivable thing appeared to be happening. She tried to remember what she knew about him. He was Professor of English literature at the University of London. He had edited Anthologies and written Introductions. He had written a _History of English Literature_ from Chaucer to Tennyson and a monograph on Shelley. She thought of his mind as a luminous, fiery crystal, shining.