to her. . . .

After a weary while, Mary Alice got up and sat by the window, looking
across to the main part of the great house and wondering which of the
darkened windows was his and if he had dismissed her easily from his
mind and gone comfortably to sleep. The early dawn breeze was blowing
from the sea when she dozed into a brief, dream-troubled sleep.




XII

AT OCEAN'S EDGE

Only the gardeners and a few of the house servants were about when she
went down-stairs, through the still house and out on to the terraces,
towards the sea. She had hung the white and silver finery carefully
away, glad to feel so far divorced from it and all it represented as
she did in her gown of unbleached linen crash which she and Godmother
had made.

"I'm like Cinderella," she reminded herself as she buttoned the crash
gown, "Godmother and all. Only, her prince loved her when he saw her
in her finery, and mine despised me. I suppose he thought I was a
silly little 'climber' trying to get out of the chimney-corner where I
belong. But I think he owed it to me to let me explain."

There was a cove on the shore whose shelter she particularly loved; and
she was going thither now, as these bitter reflections filled her mind.