the others that she longed to read. She felt
vaguely (for self-development is among the instincts natural to Man),
that there was something being _kept_ from her. She had not been
meant, ever, to remain so ignorant. She felt that Mr. Brett would not
wish to keep her back in the way Mother had. Besides, if she remained
at home, some day her mother would die, and she be left--that dreaded
thing--an old maid, all alone, for every one to mock. Nobody would
want her then! Wouldn't it be awful to feel you had thrown away a
chance that lots of women, she had gathered, never got? Fancy being
Helena Hallam, that absurd name, all your life! H. H., one of her
uncles had called her stupidly, and she had said then that it sounded
like poor Miss Jowett in the village, whom everyone called "old J. J.,"
because her name was Jane. Oh yes, she would end at last as old H.
H.--poor old H. H.--pottering about in her prim little garden with an
antiquated, rat-like dog dragging itself crookedly along behind her.
All the village poor would be so sorry when she died.

She shuddered at the thought. She always wanted to put poor J. J.'s
old dog, the one with the pink satin bow, out of its misery. It would
be kind, she knew. She could with the air-gun, but Mother had seemed
really shocked.

She suddenly decided at this point that her thoughts had become
depressing and not really helpful towards a decision. Without giving
herself time to feel alarmed, she rose abruptly and went to the
drawing-room.

She knew instinctively she must be firm.

This was the first thing ever that had really mattered, mattered to
_her_ as a separate person with a life to live, and she believed she
knew already what she ought to do. She would listen, of course, to
Mother's views--she owed that from a real love and gratitude--but she
would not be bullied any longer.

She entered the room feeling herself in some way on a different
footing. The latent, undeveloped thing that would be Helena had surged
towards birth at a mere spark from the outer world.

"Mother," she began, quite simply, "I've had a letter from Mr. Brett.
He has asked me to marry him and I think I rather shall."

Mrs. Hallam dropped her _Queen_. She did not often find herself
surprised.

"You've what, dear?" she asked blankly. Then not waiting for any
reply, "What do you know about marriage, my dear child? What do you
know about Mr. Brett?"

"I don't want to be an old maid," ans