She was utterly discontented and unhappy in her present existence. True, she had safe shelter, sufficient to wear, and enough to eat to keep life within her--but, merciful Heaven, what a price she paid for that doubtful boon! Morning after morning she regained consciousness with reluctance, shrinking from the joyless, unbroken monotony of the day that stretched its weary length before her--anxious only to get it done and added to those that were already lived through. She never read now, for her eyes ached painfully long ere work was ended. Tortured at first by her unemployed powers of heart and brain and soul fighting for expression, all too soon she became bitterly conscious that they were yielding to disuse--becoming crushed and deadened. It did seem hard to have to put all her strength, all her active energies of mind and body--all herself--into the making of cheap blouses. She felt she was being wasted, but that it was inevitable. What was being killed in her would not make money. It was some time before she could realise that she had found her true level in life's struggle, and that needlework was her doom. At first she was always waiting for something to "turn up," for the unexpected to happen. "'And is this all of life?' she said; 'This daily toil for daily bread?'" And as the conviction grew that this cruel question must be answered in the affirmative--that all heretofore had been but prelude, unstable and fleeting, that this was life now upon her in grim serious earnest--her heart grew bitter, and her once sweet, bright expression gave way to a settled look of sad discontent. But through all this her resolution to lead evermore a "good" life never faltered. She would not even contemplate endeavouring to bring sparks of brightness into her cheerless existence by setting aflame any man's affection, legally or otherwise. Come what might, she had done with that sort of thing once and for all. Mrs. Burling she visited once or twice, but her correspondence with both Margaret and Jess slackened and ceased. Separated and so unhappy, she found it difficult to know what to say to them, while they both could produce but heavy and laboured epistles. She liked Jean Brodie fairly well, but they were very opposed in character, and for the greater portion of each day the silence of the workroom was unbroken save for the clipping of the scissors or the whirring of the machine. CHAPTER XXV HARD LUCK But although Evarne would not have deemed it possible, worse still remained for her upon the knees of the gods. Jean Brodie returned home one Sunday in a state of unconcealed excitement. "Miss Stornway, I'm going to be married. The banns are to be called for the first time next Sabbath. My young man's regiment is going out to India in six weeks, and he's just got leave to marry 'on the strength,' so he can take me with him."