looking woman, and my father was decidedly handsome; so there
seemed no reason why I should not hope. I pictured myself the ugly
duckling of Andersen's fairy-tale, and every morning on waking I
would run straight to my glass and try to persuade myself that the
feathers of the swan were beginning at last to show themselves."
Miss Ramsbotham laughed, a genuine laugh of amusement, for of self-
pity not a trace was now remaining to her.

"Later I plucked hope again," continued Miss Ramsbotham her
confession, "from the reading of a certain school of fiction more
popular twenty years ago than now. In these romances the heroine
was never what you would call beautiful, unless in common with the
hero you happened to possess exceptional powers of observation.
But she was better than that, she was good. I do not regard as
time wasted the hours I spent studying this quaint literature. It
helped me, I am sure, to form habits that have since been of
service to me. I made a point, when any young man visitor happened
to be staying with us, of rising exceptionally early in the
morning, so that I always appeared at the breakfast-table fresh,
cheerful, and carefully dressed, with, when possible, a dew-
besprinkled flower in my hair to prove that I had already been out
in the garden. The effort, as far as the young man visitor was
concerned, was always thrown away; as a general rule, he came down
late himself, and generally too drowsy to notice anything much.
But it was excellent practice for me. I wake now at seven o'clock
as a matter of course, whatever time I go to bed. I made my own
dresses and most of our cakes, and took care to let everybody know
it. Though I say it who should not, I play and sing rather well.
I certainly was never a fool. I had no little brothers and sisters
to whom to be exceptionally devoted, but I had my cousins about the