Her birthday was four months away, and that, at its extremist point, might give her another five pounds. She asked the girl to fetch Mr. My reception at West Kensington you know of. Ramage did not know. This was not exactly what the woollen-draper desired. Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. Nothing shall induce me to act contrary to the dictates of my conscience.
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