with composition heads--I don't believe I've ever loved anyone in the world as I loved Daisy--Yes, I know--we had one too; it belonged to Eve, it was enormous and had real hair and a leather trunk for its clothes and felt huge and solid when you carried it; but it was as far away from you as a human being--yes, the rag dolls were simply funny--I never understand all that talk about the affection for rag dolls. We used to scream at ours and hold them by the skirts and see which could bang their heads hardest against the wall. They were always like a Punch and Judy show. The composition dolls I mean were painted a soft colour, very roundly moulded heads, with a shape, just a little hair, put on in soft brown colour, and not staring eyes but soft bluey grey with an _expression_; looking at something, looking at the same thing you looked at yourself--.... Mrs. Philps yawned and Florrie began making a move--I suppose it's bed time--said Miriam. They were all looking sleepy.--Have a glass of claret Miriam before you go said Mrs. Philps. No thank you, said Miriam springing up and dancing about the room. Giddy girl, chuckled Mrs. Philps affectionately. Grace and Florrie fetched dust sheets from the hall cupboard and began spreading them over the furniture. Miriam pulled up in front of a large oil-painting over the sofa; its distances where a meadow stream that was wide in the foreground with a stone bridge and a mill-wheel and a cottage half hidden under huge trees, grew narrow and wound on and on through tiny distant fields until the scene melted in a soft toned mist, held all her early visits to the Brooms in the Banbury Park days before they had discovered that she did not like sitting with her back to the fire. She listened eagerly to the busy sounds of the Brooms. Someone had bolted the hall door and was scrooping a chair over the tiles to get up and put out the gas. Dust sheets were still being flountered in the room behind her. Grace's arm came round her waist.--I'm so glad you've come sweet she said in her low steady shaken tones--So'm I said Miriam.--Isn't that a jolly picture--Yes. It's an awfully good one you know. It was one of papa's--What's O'Hara doing in the kitchen?--Taking Grace by the waist Miriam drew into the passage trying to prance with her down the hall. The little kitchen was obscured by an enormous clothes-horse draped with airing linen. She's left a miserable fire, said Mrs. Philps from behind the clothes-horse--She hasn't done the saucepans aunt scolded Florrie from the scullery--Never mind, we can't have er down now. It's neely midnight. 4