occasions the little cousins had been so paralysed with terror that
discipline had not been difficult. It was from these experiences
that Miss Jones flattered herself that "she understood children."

So audacious a self-confidence is doomed to invite the scornful
punishment of the gods.

Miss Jones arrived upon a wet January afternoon, one of those
Glebeshire days when the town sinks into a bath of mud and mist and
all the pipes run water and the eaves drip and horses splash and
only ducks are happy. Out of a blurred lamp-lit dusk stumbled Miss
Jones's cab, and out of a blurred unlit cab stumbled Miss Jones.

As she stood in the hall trying to look warm and amiable, Mrs.
Cole's heart forsook her. On that earlier day of her visit Miss
Jones had looked possible, sitting up in Mrs. Cole's drawing-room,
smiling her brightest, because she so desperately needed the
situation, and wearing her best dress. Now she was all in pieces;
she had had to leave her little village early in the morning to
catch the village bus; she had waited at wayside stations, as in
Glebeshire only one can wait; the world had dripped upon her head
and spattered upon her legs. She had neuralgia and a pain in her
back; she had worn her older dress because, upon such a day, it
would not do to travel in her best; and then, as a climax to
everything, she had left her umbrella in the train. How she could do
such a thing upon such a day! Her memory was not her strongest
point, poor lady, and it was a good umbrella, and she could not
afford to buy another. Perhaps they would find it for her, but it
was very unlikely.