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sun sinks, how those beautiful alluring rose-coloured peaks become in a minute awesome and gloomy. Well, it was rather like that with me. I don't mean that it was gloomy; that's exaggerating, but it was prose, and I had pictured it poetry. Heigho! It's a weary world." Claire's glance was not entirely sympathetic. "There are different kinds of prose. You will forgive my saying that your especial sort is an _Edition de luxe_." "I know! I know! You can't be harder on me than I am on myself. My dear, I have a most sensible head. I'm about as practical and long- headed as any woman of forty. It's my silly old heart which handicaps me. It _won't_ fall into line... Have you finished your mending? May I come upstairs and see your room while you dress?" For just the fraction of a moment Claire hesitated. Janet saw the doubt, and attributed it to disinclination to exhibit a shabby room; but in reality Claire was proud of her attic, which a little ingenuity had made into a very charming abode. Turkey red curtains draped the window, a low basket-chair was covered in the same material, a red silk eiderdown covered the little bed. On the white walls were a profusion of photographs and prints, framed with a simple binding of leather around the glass. The toilet table showed an array of well-polished silver, while a second table was arranged for writing, and held a number of pretty accessories. A wide board had been placed over the narrow mantel, on which stood a few good pieces of china and antique silver. There was nothing gimcrack to be seen, no one-and-elevenpenny ornaments, no imitations of any kind; despite its sloping roof and its whitewashed walls, it was self-evidently a lady's room, and Janet's admiration was unfeigned. "My dear, it's a lamb! I love your touches of scarlet. Dear me, you've quite a view! I shall have sloping walls when I change my room. They are _ever_ so picturesque. It's a perfect duck, and everything looks so bright. They _do_ keep it well!" "_I_ keep it well!" Claire corrected. "Lizzie `does' it every morning, but it's not a doing which satisfies me, so I put in a little manual labour every afternoon as a change from using my brain. I do all the polishing. You can't expect lodging-house servants to clean silver and brass." "Can't you? No; I suppose you can't." Janet's voice of a sudden sounded flat and absent. There was a moment's pause, then she added tentat
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