about her. But she recovered quite quickly, except that she left her job
as typist in a mind-improving institute and went to sea as a
stewardess."

Sarah Brown talked on, louder and louder. "Too long I have been a
servant in the house of this stranger, this greedy Charity; too long
have I sat--a silly proxy for the Too-Fortunate--in this narrow
stiff-backed judgement-seat from ten till three daily. There is Love and
April outside the window, there is too much wind and laughter outside to
allow of the forming of Habits. I have seen Love and the Spring only
through the glass of a charity office window, the rude voices of
children and sparrows and other inheritors of opportunity have been
dulled for me by grey panes. The white ships ... Castle-of-Comfort ...
Cloud-i'-the-Sun have sailed into port from the open sky without a cargo
for me...."

"Good God!" said Sarah Brown, pushing David from her. "What has happened
to me? I have become sentimental."

The room seemed to her wild imagination to be full of the spirits of
parsons and social workers with flaming swords, pointing at the door.

"Well, that's the end of that job," said the witch. "I'll tell you what,
let's go and sit on the Swing-leg Seat on the Heath. The air there and
the look of Harrow church steeple'll do you good."

"I am damned. I am a Cautionary Case," cried Sarah Brown, and she slunk
behind the witch through the frowning gate of her Eden of fair inks and
smooth white surfaces. She had shared with David the remains of her
Sandwich of Knowledge; she had left on the table her puny paper