Jane Admires 



She likes the reproductions of the Pompeii 

 frescoes above the south window, and the odd little 

 coloured engraving of an old cricket match, and the 

 portrait of Keats, whom she finds so like her brother 

 Mark, who used to write verses in the albums of her 

 school friends ; but he did something— and went 

 to Canada. . . . But she is so oppressed by the 

 atmosphere of literature that she is rather unjust 

 to the study and goes away without even looking 

 at the gabled roof of white paint and oak. A 

 ceiling seems so unnecessary. 



I explain to her what an advantage it is to have 

 the extra space between the ceiling and the roof 

 in the room, and go on talking at length, until 

 I find that she has darted back to the little mauve 

 room ! . . . 



She had heard the baby at the gardener's cottage 

 crowing. That is all very well, but Jane was 

 invented for sightseeing purposes, and she has to 

 see the sights, and eschew sentiment. Jane ! If 

 you don't come at once I shall turn you into a 

 Cook's Tourist. 



She comes at a run. We peep into the best 

 spare bedroom with its rose-bud wallpaper, and its 

 two little white beds, and the single bookshelf run- 

 ning round two-thirds of the room, containing all 

 the second-rate fiction which has been banned by 



4 1 



