[Putting down her pen, and resting her cheek on her hand.] I’m the thirteenth daughter of a parson. Why my parents had thirteen daughters, I don’t know; but I suppose it was because they are very poor. We were all given the names of flowers—Rose, Lily, Tulip, Mignonette—I can’t remember them all—but Hyacinth fell to my lot. Why we were called after flowers, I don’t know; but I suppose it was because we are none of us the least like flowers. My eldest sister married my father’s curate. I don’t know why, but I suppose it was because she came first and is the plainest in the family.
Gunning.
[Laughing.] Yes, well?
Miss Woodward.
[Speaking in an even, emotionless way.] Two other of my sisters run a Kindergarten, and one other is a governess. Personally I would rather be a domestic servant. The others remain at home, help in the house, and await husbands. I fear they will wait in vain, because there are so many women in our part of the country and so few men. For my part I seized an early opportunity of learning shorthand and typewriting—and—well, here I am. Now you know the story of my life.
[She returns to her work.
Gunning.
I’m afraid it was deuced impertinent of me to ask.
Miss Woodward.
Not at all—only eminently man-like.