“Ah, Godfrey,” he said, “you’ll always get past the ghosts! Well, the visit will be rather jolly. I’ve a great curiosity about Waynflete, and at least it will be clean. I agree with Ruskin that smoke is sinful.”
“There’s a great deal of rot in Ruskin,” said Godfrey, “and you ought not to say things are sinful, when they ain’t. Plenty of things are.”
Part 1, Chapter II.
The House.
Constancy Vyner was sitting at a table, sorting and arranging a little pile of manuscripts, neatly clipped together, and written in the distinct upright hand of the modern high-school girl. She was dressed in a plain, girlish frock, well cut and well put on, her thick brown hair hung on her shoulders, and curled over her square low forehead in vigorous waves, as if every hair was full of elastic life. Her handsome eyes, of a clear shade of hazel, looked out under straight brown eyebrows, from a brown, rosy face with an air of keen and critical observation; while the straight nose and firm round chin added to her purposeful look. She was tall and strongly made for her sixteen years, and the white, well-shaped hands that held the papers looked as if made to carry out the work which the well-shaped head would conceive. The room in which she sat was as old-fashioned as she herself was modern and up to date, with small irregular panels, sloping roof, and tiny casements, through which the evening sun danced in distorted gleams.
“I think I’m doing well,” said Constancy aloud to herself, as if convincing an opponent. “Ten shillings from the Guide of Youth for the best essay on Reading. I’m glad I was so careful as to what books I mentioned. One must respect people’s prejudices. I have much the best chance for all those acrostics and search questions. The editor of The Children’s Friend has asked me for another story. This will do. The little delicate boy must catch cold in a thunderstorm when his sister takes him out without leave. Shall he quite die? I think not. The district-visitor shall save his life. And this story for The Penny Pleasure Giver. There mustn’t be any moral in that at all! Altogether I have got twenty pounds in the last year, and some of the editors write ‘Dear Madam,’ and don’t find out I’m only a little girl! Something ought to come out of this place. It’s beautiful copy!” she continued, leaning back in her chair and glancing round her, while a certain absorbed receptive look came into her keen eyes, altering her whole expression.
She jumped up, and swinging herself into the deep high recess of the little casement, pushed it open and looked out.
Beneath her lay a wild untrimmed garden divide! by a sunk fence from a large paddock sloping towards a narrow valley, with heathery hills beyond. The sky was blue and still, with long streaks of pearly silvery cloud across the hilltops. A flight of rooks came home to a group of tall elm trees beside the house, filling the still air with sound.