The next day I was too fully conscious of being the heroine of a sensational drama, to shed tears over my lonely and miserable self. The boat left the North Wall early in the morning, so that toilet, breakfast, farewells were a hurry, a scare, the suspension of feeling in stunned senses. I scarcely tasted tea, but I looked forlornly at the lovely red-and-white cups as big as bowls, which I still remember as a comforting joy to the eye.

All the children around me were stamping and shouting, running every minute between mouthfuls to see if the cab had come, if my box were in the hall, and read aloud the label, "Passenger to Lysterby by Birmingham," in awed tones. It seemed so wonderful to them that I should be described as "passenger" to anywhere. Not a tear was shed by anybody. Only war-whoops and joyous voluble chatter and thrilling orders that rang along the passage like the clarion notes[Pg 114] of destiny. Elsewhere hearts under such circumstances might break. Here they only palpitated with delight in the unusual, and the whole party was filled with a like impatience to lead me in triumph down to the cab, not from a heartless desire to get rid of me, but for the grand dramatic instant of farewell. They greedily yearned to bundle me into the fatal vehicle, for the intoxicating novelty of waving their handkerchiefs to me from the doorstep as the cab drove off.

What might follow for me they did not take into account, having neither imagination nor tenderness to help them to look beyond a glowing moment. What would follow for them they were already perfectly aware of: a wild race up-stairs, and a whole entrancing afternoon devoted to discussing my departure, voyage, and probable experiences.

My stepfather took me up in his arms, kissed me on both cheeks with his cheery careless affection, and carried me down-stairs. My mother followed with a shawl, and a packet containing cold chicken, bread, cake, and milk.

In the hall the terrible postulant stood waiting for me, and met my scared look with a quick nod, meant to assure me that although her aspect might be that of an ogre, she could be trusted[Pg 115] not to devour a little girl. My mother gave her the lunch and the shawl, and told her to keep me warm, as I was not yet recovered from the effects of whooping-cough. Through the open door I saw my box on the top of the cab, and it seemed as if hundreds of shrill young voices were shouting blithely to me, "Good-bye, Angela." Quantities of soft young lips strove to kiss me at once, and dancing blue eyes sparkled around me, and gave me the sensation of being already cast out of a warm circle where my empty place would not be felt, where no word of regret would ever be uttered for the unwelcome waif that called them sister.

Without a tear or a word, giving back their joyous "Good-bye" without sorrow or revolt, I carried my mumbed little heart into the cab, so alone that the companionship of the postulant offered me no promise of protection or sympathy, and I never once looked at my stepfather sitting opposite me.

So I began my life, and so has it continued. Some obscure instinct of pride compelled me to wave my handkerchief in response to excited waves of white from the pavement. I looked as if I did not care, and this was the start of a subsequent deliberate development of the "don\'t[Pg 116] care" philosophy, which the good ladies of Mercy triumphantly prophesied would eventually lead me to perdition. To perdition it did not lead me, but to many private hours of despair and suffering, for which I could claim no alleviation in the support of my fellows, since I had chosen the attitude of defiance and "don\'t care."

Heaven knows how much I cared! what salt passionate tears I wept because I always cared a great deal too much. But this nobody knew. My pride was to pass for a hardened reprobate, and such were my iniquities and the ferocity of that same untamable pride that if I achieved succe............