a vast expanse of these; gold, gold, everywhere; a lark singing
overhead. Then, in imagination, she found her way to a nook by the
Avon at Melkbridge, a spot endeared to her heart by memories that
she would never forget. As a child, she loved to steal there with
her picture book; later, as a little girl, she would go there all
alone, and, lying on her back, would dream, while her eyes followed
the sun. Her fondness for this place was the only thing which she
had kept from her father's knowledge. She wondered if this hiding
place, where she had loved to take her thoughts, were the same. She
could shut her eyes and recall it: the pollard willows, the brown
river banks, the swift, running river in which the forget-me-nots
(so it appeared to her) never seemed to tire in the effort to see
their reflection.

Darkness came out of the east. Mavis's heart went out to the summer
night. Then, she was aware of a feeling of physical discomfort. The
effort of imagination had exhausted her. She became wearily
conscious of the immediate present. The last post, this time,
knocked at the door of Mrs Ellis', but it brought no letter for
Mavis. It seemed that the world had no need of her; that no one
cared what became of her. She was disinclined to go out,
consequently, the limitations of her surroundings made her quickly
surrender to the feeling of desolation which attacked her. She
wondered how many girls in London were, at the present moment,
isolated from all congenial human companionship as she was. She
declined the landlady's kindly offer to partake of cold boiled beef
and spring onions in the status of guest; the girl seemed to get
satisfaction from her morbid indulgence in self-pity.

As she was about to undress, her eye fell on the Bible which Helen