The signs of tears had all gone, but some subtle change seemed to have stolen into her face. “What is a ballot-box like, exactly?” she asked, as though it was very important to her. Had he found the secret door? Running to the centre, she tried to judge where the knocking came from. He drew compellingly upon his new characters to keep him out of this melancholy channel; but they ebbed and ebbed; he could not hold them. About her, as she had gone day by day to and from the Tredgold College, she had seen and not seen many an incidental aspect of those sides of life about which girls are expected to know nothing, aspects that were extraordinarily relevant to her own position and outlook on the world, and yet by convention ineffably remote. The movie droned on, the sounds becoming manageable except for the frequent high-pitched screams of young girls when a poltergeist manifestation would leap out of a shadow. For a time she worried about that compulsory bath and cutaneous diseases. As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. "This your regular business?" "For the present.
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