A third of the whole length was consumed. Her nostrils breathed in smoke, and as she tasted the burnt flavour the sweetness of the unpolluted air all around her was a new thing. The acrid tang in her nostrils intoxicated her. She drew more boldly. There was smoke in her mouth. She opened it quickly, sharply exhaling a yellow cloud oddly different from the grey spirals wreathing their way from the end of the cigarette. She went on drawing in mouthful after mouthful of smoke, expelling each quickly with widely-opened lips, turning to look at the well-known room through the yellow haze and again at the sky, which drew nearer as she puffed at it. The sight of the tree-tops scrolled with her little clouds brought her a sense of power. She had chosen to smoke and she was smoking, and the morning world gleamed back at her.... 11 The morning gleamed. She would choose her fate. It should be amongst green trees and sunshine. That daunted lump who had accepted the post at Banbury Park had nothing to do with her. Morning gladness flooded her, and her gladness of the thought of the evening to come quickened as it had done last night into certainty. She burned the last inch of the cigarette in the grate, wrapped with combings from the toilet-tidy in a screw of paper. When all was consumed she carefully replaced the summer bundle of ornamental mohair behind the bars. Useless to tell anyone. No one would believe she had not felt ill. She found it difficult to understand why anyone should feel sick from smoking. Dizzy perhaps ... a little drunk. Pater’s tobacco was very strong, some people could not smoke it.... She had smoked a whole cigarette of strong tobacco and liked it. Raising her arms above her head she worked them upwards, stretching every muscle of her body. No, she was anything but ill. Leaving the window wide she went on to the landing. The smell of tobacco was everywhere. She flung into each room in turn, throwing up windows and leaving doors propped ajar. Harriett coming up the garden with a basket of cut flowers saw her at the cook’s bedroom window. “What on earth you doing thayer!” she shrieked putting down her basket. Hanging from the window Miriam made a trumpet of her hands. “Something blew in!” 12 All preparations for the evening were made and the younger members of the household were having a late tea in the breakfast-room. “We’ve done the alcoves,” said Sarah explosively, “in case it rains.” Nan Babington sat up in her long chair to bring her face round to the deep bay where Sarah stood. “My _dear_! Seraphina! And she’s doing the pink bows! Will some saint take my cup? Ta.... My dear, how _perfectly_ screaming.” Miriam raised her head from the petal-scattered table, where she lay prone side by side with Harriett, to watch Nan sitting up in her firm white dress beaming at Sarah through her slanting eye. “What flowers you going to wear, Nan?”