Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. Mary Lucia was branded “the earliest riser and the best at keeping up with her chores” by the formidable Sisters at the orphanage. Unless it was a jewel or locket of some kind. Earles declared good-humouredly, “but I shall not let you go without drinking a glass of wine to our success.
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