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From her glowing descriptions, the word studio came to sound in Miss Mason’s ears with a note akin to magic, while no one guessed the dreams of art and artists, of the mad sweet land of Bohemia, cherished by the ugly girl who was known in the school as “that awkward Olive Mason.”

At the end of the year Miss Mason returned home, to find her presence almost hourly required by Miss Stanhope, who had developed into what is usually termed a malade imaginaire. Her only recreations were gardening, and later—when at the age of twenty-seven she was allowed free access to the library—reading. In these two occupations she was able to forget the monotony of the days.

Children who peeped through the gate on sunny mornings saw a small shrunken woman with a thin peevish face sitting on the lawn or in the veranda, according to the season, while Miss Mason was busy in the flower-beds, her grey dress tucked up over a black and white striped petticoat, goloshes on her feet, a large black hat tied on her head, and gauntlet gloves covering her hands. The progress of fashion being outside the strictly limited circle of Miss Mason’s life, she had adopted a costume of her own device, which costume she found both warm and comfortable, and it never varied.