herself: she saw as it were a fine little reflection of herself in his eyes. And she must act up to this: she must be beautiful. Her thoughts turned swiftly to clothes, her passion was to make a beautiful appearance.

Her family looked on in amazement at the sudden transformation of Ursula. She became elegant, really elegant, in figured cotton frocks she made for herself, and hats she bent to her fancy. An inspiration was upon her.

He sat with a sort of languor in her grandmother's rocking chair, rocking slowly, languidly, backward and forward, as Ursula talked to him.

“You are not poor, are you?” she said.

“Poor in money? I have about a hundred and fifty a year of my own — so I am poor or rich, as you like. I am poor enough, in fact.”