warmest weather, in a thick shawl and knitting endless stockings. She
hated children, myself in particular. She was also a Snob of the Snobs,
and thanked God on her knees every night for Lady St. Leath, Mrs.
Combermere and Mrs. Sampson, by whose graces she was left in her present
position.

Joan was still too near childhood to be considered very seriously, and it
was well known that her father did not take her very seriously either. She
was always, therefore, on the rare occasions when she entered the Library,
snubbed by Miss Milton. It must be confessed that to-day, in spite of her
success with Mrs. Sampson, she was nervous. She was nervous partly because
she hated Miss Milton's red-rimmed eyes, and never looked at them if she
could help it, but, in the main, because she knew that her mother was
returning the Library books too quickly, and had, moreover, insisted that
she should ask for Mr. Barrie's _Sentimental Tommy_ and Mr. Seton
Merriman's _The Sowers_, both of them books that had been asked for
for weeks and as steadily and persistently refused.

Joan knew what Miss Milton would say, "That they might be in next week,
but that she couldn't be sure." Was Joan strong enough now, in her new-
found glory, to fight for them? She did not know.

She advanced to the table smiling. Miss Milton did not look up, but
continued to knit one of her horrible stockings.

"Good-morning, Miss Milton. Mother has sent back these books. They were
not quite what she wanted."

"I'm sorry for that." Miss Milton took the books into her chilblained
protection. "It's a little difficult, I must say, to know what Mrs.