rogue eyes and red, thick, soft lips, smiling on little provocation. In
spite of her disgrace, in spite of the fact that she was sitting on her
mother's grave, she did not look depressed. And Derek thought: 'Wilmet
Gaunt is the jolliest of them all! She isn't a bit a bad girl, as they
say; it's only that she must have fun. If they drive her out of here,
she'll still want fun wherever she is; she'll go to a town and end up
like those girls I saw in Bristol.' And the memory of those night girls,
with their rouged faces and cringing boldness, came back to him with
horror.

He went across the grass toward her.

She looked round as he came, and her face livened.

"Well, Wilmet?"

"You're an early bird, Mr. Derek."

"Haven't been to bed."

"Oh!"

"Been up Malvern Beacon to see the sun rise."

"You're tired, I expect!"

"No."

"Must be fine up there. You'd see a long ways from there; near to London
I should think. Do you know London, Mr. Derek?"