As every human life has its crises and turning-points for better or
worse, it will not surprise the reader to learn that there came a day
when Destiny, having nothing else to do, probably, turned her
good-humoured attention towards mine.

The commemoration of the coming into the world of my step-mother's
illustrious darling had been celebrated with due and undue festivities
and enthusiasm from the rising to the setting of a golden June sun.
Whether from an excess of spasmodic affectionate hugging, which, by
the way, was the chief feature of these joyful monthly, and quarterly,
and half-yearly solemnities, or not, the little being in question was
most unmanageably peevish and ill-humoured for three or four days
following these occasions of ecstatic thanksgiving.

One would imagine that by this time I had had sense enough to train
myself into a placid resignation over such circumstances of my life,
as seemed to me to be presided over by some inevitable ill-luck, but,
on the contrary, a growing perversity began to stimulate me at this
epoch more eagerly than ever to rebel against decrees so openly unfair
to me, and unable or unwilling, to cope with this moral enemy that had
taken so firm a hold of me, I yielded myself up, a sort of helpless
and reckless victim to its wiles, at the sacrifice, I must admit, of
my personal peace and comfort.

Usually, at this period I surprised and annoyed myself, when, in
passing accidentally before some tell-tale mirror, I saw the
reflection of a distressed and impatient scowl: usually, too, I was
conscious of my step being quick and angry, I was not aware, however,
that it was a growing deformity of my moral nature, oozing out thus in
every look and tone and gesture.