"I know," I admitted resentfully. "That's another grudge I have against our family. They never have had to 'come down into the market-place.' Consequently they wouldn't adapt themselves to the new conditions and fit themselves for the market now. They'd rather stand aside and vegetate in a mental backwater on twopence a year, thinking, 'We are still Lovelaces,' and learning nothing, nothing. Talk about 'The Idle Rich'! They are not such cucumbers of the ground as 'The Idle Poor'! I've been trained to nothing. Lots of the girls who live along this road have taken up typewriting, or County Council cookery, or teaching--things that will give them independence. I have nothing of the sort to fall back upon. I might take care of little children, perhaps, but people like Norland nurses at a hundred a year nowadays. Or I might find a post as a lady's maid----" "What?" "Well, you taught me to pack and to mend lace, Auntie! And I can do hair--it's the only natural gift I've got," I said. "Perhaps I might get them to give me a chance in some small hairdresser's to begin with." "You are talking nonsense, and you do not even mean what you say, child." "I mean every word of it, and I don't see why it should be nonsense," I persisted. "It isn't, when these other girls talk of making a career for themselves somehow. They can get on----" "They are not ladies." "It's a deadly handicap being what our family calls a lady," said I. "I'm going to stop being one and to have something like a life of my own at last." "I forbid you," said Aunt Anastasia, in her stoniest voice, "I forbid you to do anything that is unbefitting my niece, my brother's child, and Lady Anastasia's great-granddaughter!" "Auntie, I am past twenty-one," I said quite quietly. "No one can 'forbid' my doing anything that is within the law! And I'm going to take the rest of my life into my own hands." CHAPTER VII MY DEPARTURE I HAVE been putting on all my outdoor things. For I feel desperate. And I must take advantage of this feeling. If I wait until to-morrow, when my rage and indignation and violent dissatisfaction with things-as-they-are have died down, and I'm normal again, well, then I shall get nothing done. I shall think: "Perhaps life here with Aunt Anastasia at No. 45 Laburnum Grove, isn't so bad after all, even if I do never have any parties or young friends or pretty frocks or anything that other happier, less-aristocratically connected girls look upon as a matter of course. Anyhow, there's nothing for it but to go on in the same humdrum fashion that I've been doing----" Ah, no! I mustn't let myself go back to thinking like that again. The secret of success is to get something done while you're in the mood for it! * * * * * In our hall with the unmended umbrella stand and the trophy of Afghan knives I was stopped by Aunt Anastasia.