succeeded. And Lucy — she knew not why — wished that the trouble could have come at any other time.

“Go and dress, dear; you'll be late.”

“All right, mother — ”

“Don't say 'All right' and stop. Go.”

She obeyed, but loitered disconsolately at the landing window. It faced north, so there was little view, and no view of the sky. Now, as in the winter, the pine-trees hung close to her eyes. One connected the landing window with depression. No definite problem menaced her, but she sighed to herself, “Oh, dear, what shall I do, what shall I do?” It seemed to her that every one else was behaving very badly. And she ought not to have mentioned Miss Bartlett's