ore on her arm; but at sight of the stern,
grey, stone building she could have danced with joy; and on the front
door swinging to behind her, she drew a deep sigh of relief.

IX.

From this moment on--the moment when Mary the maid's pleasant smile
saluted her--Laura's opinion of life at school suffered a change. She
was glad to be back--that was the first point: just as an adventurous
sheep is glad to regain the cover of the flock. Learning might be hard;
the governesses mercilessly secure in their own wisdom; but here she
was at least a person of some consequence, instead of as at Godmother's
a mere negligible null.

Of her unlucky essay at holiday-making she wrote home guardedly: the
most tell-tale sentence in her letter was that in which she said she
would rather not go to Godmother's again in the meantime. But there was
such a lack of warmth in her account of the visit that mother made
this, together with the above remark, the text for a scolding.

"YOU'RE A VERY UNGRATEFUL GIRL," she wrote, "TO FORGET ALL GODMOTHER
HAS DONE FOR YOU. IF IT HADN'T BEEN FOR HER SUPPLYING YOU WITH BOOKS
AND THINGS I COULDN'T HAVE SENT YOU TO SCHOOL AT ALL. AND I HOPE WHEN
YOU GROW UP YOU'LL BE AS MUCH OF A HELP TO ME AS MARINA IS TO HER
MOTHER. I'D MUCH RATHER HAVE YOU GOOD AND USEFUL THAN CLEVER AND I
THINK FOR A CHILD OF YOUR AGE YOU SEE THINGS WITH VERY SHARP UNKIND
EYES. TRY AND ONLY THINK NICE THINGS ABOUT PEOPLE AND NOT BE ALWAYS
SPYING OUT THEIR FAULTS. THEN YOU'LL HAVE PLENTY OF FRIENDS AND BE
LIKED WHEREVER YOU GO."

Laura took the statement about the goodness and cleverness with a grain
of salt: she knew better. Mother thought it the proper thing to say,
and she would certainly have preferred the two qualities combined; but,
had she been forced to choose between them, there was small doubt how
her choice would have fallen out. And if, for instance, Laura confessed
that her teachers did not regard her as even passably intelligent,
there would be a nice to-do. Mother's ambitions knew no bounds; and,
wounded in these, she was quite capable of writing post-haste to Mrs.
Gurley or Mr. Strachey, complaining of their want of insight, and
bringing forward a string of embarrassing proofs. So, leaving Mother to
her pleasing illusions, Laura settled down again to her role of dunce,
now, though, with more equanimity than before. School was really not a
bad place after all--this had for some time been her growing
conviction,