ere was nothing.

Here was a child worthy of a Naiad's maternity, if grace of limb counted
immortally, and when for the first time she was given the world to look
at, her finite vision and infinite aspirations were never set in
relation to each other. She was given a telescope, and nobody had taken
off the shutter. Her soul was a singing bird in a cage. Freedom was the
only ideal. She might have been moved by Catholicism, but nobody gave it
to her. It may be idle to speculate on the effect of incense-haunted
chapels, of blazing windows and the dim accoutrements of Mass. Perhaps,
after all, they would merely have struck her comically. Perhaps she was
a true product of London generations, yet maybe her Cockney wit would
have glittered more wonderfully in a richer setting--haply in Lacedaemon,
with sea-green tunic blown to the outline of slim beauty by each wind
coming southward from Thessaly.

Anyway, it was impossible to think of her enticed by the ready-made
gallantries of raw-boned Sawnies by the stage door of the Court Theater.
Her temperament found greater satisfaction in Valerie's more beautifully
expressed adoration. The latter may not have roused her to encounter
life, may not have supplied a purpose, a hope or a determination, but at
least it kept her contented in the shy season of maidenhood. It helped
to steer her course between incidental viciousness and eventful passion.
She went back to Hagworth Street with no red thorns of impure
associations to fester and gather. The days went by very quickly without
any great adventures except the dance on the occasion of the pantomime's
last night. Jenny was not invited to this entertainment. She was
supposed to be too young, and her mouth went dry with disappointment and
a lump of unshed tears came into her throat, and it almost seemed as if
her heart must stop.

"I ought to go; oh, it is a shame; I ought to go."

Jenny went up of her own accord to the stage-manager himself and said:

"Please, Mr. Courtenay-Champion, why aren't I asked to the dance?"

"Good Lord!" said Mr. Courtenay-Champion. "A kid like you? No, my dear,
you're too young. It goes on too late. After the show, some hours."

But Jenny sobbed and cried, and was so clearly heart-broken by the idea
of being left out that Mr. Courtenay-Champion changed his mind and told
her she could come. She was instantly transfigured as by dazzling
sunlight after days of mist. It was to be a splendid dance, with jell