"Suppose," she said gently, "you make me your father confessor to-night, and confess your various aims and ambitions? It is the sort of confession appropriate to a New Year's dawn, and perhaps the very putting into words will vitalise your dreams and take them the first step towards becoming realities. You must _all_ confess, remember! There must be no holding back; if one begins the rest must follow, and after the confessions have been made, we must pledge ourselves to help each other towards our separate goals, if not by material aids, by reinforcing his will with our own!" The girl in blue laughed lightly, and cried: "Oh, let's! Let's all confess, and then, years afterwards, when we are old, and wear transformations, we'll meet again, at the dying of the year, and sit round the Yule log, and tell the stories of our lives. And if we have failed, we will weep salt tears of disappointment; and if we have succeeded, we'll weep more, because it's all hollow and stuffed with bran, and we'll make pious reflections, and sigh: `Oh, me! Oh, my!' and preach sermons to the youngsters, and they won't believe a word. And so it will all begin over again. Juliet, you set the ball rolling, by speaking of ruts. You ought to be the first to confess. What is the secret longing of your heart?" The dark girl showed no sign of embarrassment at being chosen to lead the way. There was no sign of shrinking or hesitation upon her face; on the contrary, at the sound of that penetrating question, the careless smile died away, and her features seemed suddenly to glow with life. "_Adventure_!" she cried quickly. "Give me that, and, for good or ill, I shall be satisfied. Fate made me with a vagrant's heart shut up in a woman's body, and for twenty-four years it's been fed on monotony in a country parish. Since I left the schoolroom I've never had a real experience of my own. I've had trivial pleasures, never one real big joy; never"--she looked slowly, thoughtfully, from face to face--"_never a grief_! There's something here"--she laid her hand on her heart--"fighting to get out! The ordinary, quiet, comfortable life would not content it. It wants more. It wants happenings, changes, excitement--it wants the big world, and I am a prisoner in the castle of convention. Mrs Ingram, how does your prophecy apply to me? How am I to get out?" "No prison is so strong that it cannot be pulled down, Juliet. The walls of Jericho fell at the sound of the trumpet. But you must discover your own trumpet, and the walls won't fall at the first flourish," said Mrs Ingram, and then suddenly and incontinently she added: "Poor child!"