uld now talk about herself, which was what he wanted, for so they
might come to know each other.

She looked back meditatively upon her past life.

"How do you spend your day?" he asked.

She meditated still. When she thought of their day it seemed to her it
was cut into four pieces by their meals. These divisions were absolutely
rigid, the contents of the day having to accommodate themselves within
the four rigid bars. Looking back at her life, that was what she saw.

"Breakfast nine; luncheon one; tea five; dinner eight," she said.

"Well," said Hewet, "what d'you do in the morning?"

"I need to play the piano for hours and hours."

"And after luncheon?"

"Then I went shopping with one of my aunts. Or we went to see some one,
or we took a message; or we did something that had to be done--the taps
might be leaking. They visit the poor a good deal--old char-women with
bad legs, women who want tickets for hospitals. Or I used to walk in the
park by myself. And after tea people sometimes called; or in summer we
sat in the garden or played croquet; in winter I read aloud, while
they worked; after dinner I played the piano and they wrote letters.
If father was at home we had friends of his to dinner, and about once a
month we went up to the play. Every now and then we dined out; sometimes
I went to a dance in London, but that was difficult because of getting
back. The people we saw were old family friends, and relations, but we
didn't see many people. There was the clergyman, Mr. Pepper, and the
Hunts. Father generally wanted to be quiet when he came home, because he
works very hard at Hull. Also my aunts aren't very strong. A house takes
up a lot of time if you do it properly. Our servants were always bad,
and so Aunt Lucy used to do a good deal in the kitchen, and Aunt Clara,
I think, spent most of the morning dusting the drawing-room and going
through the linen and silver. Then there were the dogs. They had to be
exercised, besides being washed and brushed. Now Sandy's dead, but Aunt
Clara has a very old cockatoo that came from India. Everything in
our house," she exclaimed, "comes from somewhere! It's full of old
furniture, not really old, Victorian, things mother's family had or
father's family had, which they didn't like to get rid of, I suppose,
though we've really no room for them. It's rather a nice house," she
continued, "except that it's a little dingy--dull I should say." She
called up before her eyes a