pen, and
distinguished her letters so remarkably from the feats of her tongue.

When she had written the letter and posted it adventurously in the hotel
letter-box, she went out on the parade to listen to the band. It was
Easter week, and there were still a great many people about, couples
sitting round the bandstand, more deeply absorbed in each other than in
the music. Joanna paid twopence for a chair, having ascertained that
there were no more expensive seats to be had, and at the end of an hour
felt consumedly bored. The music was bright and popular enough, but she
was not musical, and soon grew tired of listening to "tunes." Also
something about the music made her feel uncomfortable--the same dim yet
searching discomfort she had when she looked at the young couples in the
sun ... the young girls in their shady hats and silk stockings, the
young men in their flannels and blazers. They were all part of a whole
to which she did not belong, of which the music was part ... and the
sea, and the sun, and the other visitors at the hotel, the very servants
of the hotel ... and Ellen at Ansdore ... all day she was adding fresh
parts to that great whole, outside which she seemed to exist alone.

"I'm getting fanciful," she thought--"this place hasn't done me a bit of
good yet."

She devoted herself to the difficult art of filling up her day.
Accustomed to having every moment occupied, she could hardly cope with
the vast stretch of idle hours. After a day or two she found herself
obliged to give up having breakfast in bed. From force of habit she woke
every morning at five, and could not endure the long wait in her room.
If the weather was fine she usually went for a walk on the sea-front,
from Rock-a-Nore to the Monypenny statue. Nothing would induce her to
bathe, though even at that hour and season the water was full of young
men and women rather shockingly enjoying themselves and each other.
After breakfast she wrote laborious letters to Broadhurst, Wilson, Mrs.
Tolhurst, Ellen, Mene Tekel--she had never written so many letters in
her life, but every day she thought of some fresh thing that would be
left undone if she did not write about it. When she had finished her
letters she went out and listened respectfully to the band. The
afternoon was generally given up to some excursion or charabanc drive,
and the day finished rather somnolently in the lounge.

She did not get far beyond civilities with the other visitors in t