e at all on what would happen
in this strange new world. . . .

Caroline, hastening down the road, had the same thought; but to her it
brought a glorious sense of fresh vistas opening, of splendid conflicts
in which she and her sort were bound to be victorious--she saw already
a sun rising which would really warm rich and poor alike, and would
make every one in the end happy and good.

No wonder Mr. Willis smiled at her when she went flying after him once
more, all wind-blown hair and eyes a-shine; but he pulled up with a
pretence of grumpiness, saying over his shoulder: "Well, what is it
now? Have you rued throwing up your place?"

"No; I'm only going to help them a bit until they get a girl. You
can't help being sorry for Miss Ethel."

"I'm to take your box on to the Cottage after all, then?" he said in a
teasing way. "Well, well, it's a queer thing how women like to change
their minds. I expect they're made so."

"I'm not," said Caroline. "I knew my own mind right enough: only I
couldn't leave Miss Ethel with one of her bad headaches and nobody to
do a thing for her. You'd be the first to blame me."

But he had whipped up his horse before she finished her sentence, and
was already rattling away in the direction of the Cottage.

_Chapter III_

_The Promenade_

Pale blue sky with scudding clouds--a dun sea dappled with pale
silver--and that intense greyish-white light on promenade,
bleak-fronted houses and sparsely scattered visitors, which always
makes everything so distinct as to seem unreal on such a day in
Thorhaven--like an old copper-print.

As Caroline sat in her pay-box at the gate of the promenade, she had
plenty of time to note these atmospheric conditions, but she only felt
them. That grey, clear, windy brightness was mingled for all the rest
of her life with what was to happen during the months between this
morning and the end of September, when the job would be over. But now
she was entirely immersed in her ticket issuing, when there was any to
do, and in feeling excited and self-conscious and important when there
was not. Book, pencil, pile of tickets were all meticulously ready,
and she would not put her window down for a moment despite the
north-east wind which swept round the little shelter.

But so early in the season there was scarcely a person to be seen about
on the broad, grey stretch of the promenade, and the gardener's back as
he worked hard at bedding out plants, lo