'Yes it is, but you must see the different rooms. You must go up to the
office and ask for permission to see the works.'

'I don't think I'd care to go by myself. Won't you come with me?'

Kate hesitated; she had very little to do at home, and could say that Mrs.
Barnes had kept her waiting.

'Do come,' he said after a pause, during which he looked at her eagerly.

'Well, I should like to see the room where my mother used to work, but we
mustn't stop too long. I shall be missed at home.' The matter being so
arranged, they entered the yard, and Kate pointed out a rough staircase
placed against the wall. 'You must go up there; the office is at the top.
Ask for permission to see the works and I'll wait here for you.'

Half a dozen men were packing crockery into crates with spades, and as she
watched them she remembered that she used to come to this yard with her
mother's dinner, and stand wondering how they could pack the delf without
breaking it. She remembered one afternoon particularly well; she had
promised to be very good, and had been allowed to sit by her mother and
watch her painting flowers that wound in and out and all about a big blue
vase. She remembered how she was reproved for peeping over her neighbour's
shoulder, and how proud she felt sitting among all the workwomen. She could
recall the smell of the paint and turpentine, and her grief when she was
told that she was too delicate to learn painting, and was going to be put
out to dressmaking. But that time was long ago; her mother was dead and she
was married. Everything was changed or broken, as was that beautiful vase,
probably. It astonished Kate to find herself thinking of these things. She