But it was not until she had quite got away from the houses, and had walked some distance from the tram terminus, that she succeeded in overcoming the ill-humour that possessed her; and when she entered a field where no one was in sight, the first thing she did was to sit down upon a green bank and shed a few hot tears—not many, for Fanny was a girl of spirit, and did not indulge in such weaknesses as a rule. It was not jealousy in regard to George Green that troubled her, for after the first feeling of annoyance had passed away she did not give him a thought, but a restlessness that had taken possession of her, and that caused her to feel her own life to be altogether unsatisfactory. Not that it had ever occurred to her to think about her life until lately; but a subtle change had been going on within the girl which could scarcely be explained or accounted for. Fanny was active and curious, and had the desire to know which characterises some young folk. She had been sent to school long enough to learn to read, and she devoured everything that came in her way. Her knowledge, therefore, was of a very miscellaneous kind. Such periodicals as Paradise Grove affected were always read by her, for she borrowed every scrap that she saw, and until lately no girl more loved to shock the sensibilities of the Christian girls working beside her with impudent and blasphemous assertions than Fanny Burton. But, thanks to the Basket Woman, Fanny had certainly been growing more quiet and less confident lately. Instead of glorying in her surroundings she was sickened by them, and there had sprung up within her a great scorn of herself and her own people, and an awakening desire after better things.