The old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith. There could not, he decided, possibly be two girls so much alike. There was. But when she reached the pavement outside her teeth were clenched, and she carried herself unconsciously an inch or so higher. Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. My servant. “She must,” said Mr. ’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. \" 66 She commented as more doors slammed.
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