NOTE 24 Miriam found her old prayer-book and scribbled her name on the flyleaf. . . . . Bella de Castro writing from mother under her name in her bible . . . . . . feeling something, privately, not knowing that anyone would see it. . . . . . The sunlight pouring in on the thin bible page; the words written plumply with one of Bella's blunt uncared-for pencils. Her thick ropy black plait, brilliant oily Italian eyes in her long fat handsome face; staring out of the window sullenly waiting for schooldays to be at an end; her handsome horrible brother on horse-|back; just the same; the high-water marks above her wrists when she washed her hands, and then, from mother, stubbed carefully, meaning.

The pencilled Miriam gave a false meaning to the prayer-book. There was no indiarubber, she would have to take it down as it was. It was a letter, written to Dr. von Heber, supposed to be written when she was a girl. . . . . . She carried

She carried

NOTE 26 Dr. Hurd sitting on the omnibus with amusement carving deep lines on his brick-red face and splintering out of his eyes into the hot afternoon glare; the neat new bowler with the red hair coming down underneath it, the well-cut Montreal clothes on his tough neat figure; immovable, there for the afternoon. Forced to go on and on isolated with the brick-red grin and the splintering green eyes through the afternoon heat, in the midst of a glare of omnibus people, on their way to a brass band in the Albert Hall, thinking they were going to a concert. He did not know what made a concert. Sitting with the remains of his grin, waiting for the things he had been taught to admire, unable to find anything without his mother and sisters; missing Canadian ladies with opinions about everything; waiting all the time to be managed in the Canadian women's way. . . . . . . He must have told the others about it afterwards, his face crinkling at them and they listening and agreeing.