even to her mother. One queer and most unchildlike habit she had,
which, as if thinking it wrong, she only indulged when quite alone;
she loved to sit before a looking-glass and gaze into her own face.
At such times her little countenance became very sad without any
understood reason.

The past summer had been to her a time of happiness, for there had
come comparatively little bad weather, and sunshine was like wine to
Ida. The proximity of the park was a great advantage. During the
weeks of summer holiday, she spent whole days wandering about the
large, grassy tracts by herself, rejoicing in the sensation of
freedom from task-work. If she were especially in luck, a dog would
come and play about her, deserting for a minute its lawful master or
mistress, and the child would roll upon the grass in delighted
sport. Or she would find out a warm, shady nook quite near to the
borders of the Zoological Gardens, and would lie there with ear
eager to catch the occasional sounds from the animals within. The
roar of the lion thrilled her with an exquisite trembling; the calls
of the birds made her laugh with joy. Once, three years ago, her
mother had taken her to Hastings for a week, and when she now caught
the cry of the captive sea-gulls, it brought back marvellous
memories of the ocean flashing in the sun, of the music of breakers,
of the fresh smell of the brine.

Now there had come upon her the first great grief. She had caused
her mother bitter suffering, and her own heart was filled with a
commensurate pain. Had she been a little older she would already
have been troubled by another anxiety; for the last two years her
mother's health had been falling away; every now and then had come a
fit of illness, and at other times Lotty suffered from a depression