All the promise of her earlier youth had been abundantly fulfilled.  Tall, gracious of figure, her beauty had a charm and dignity which owed almost as much to mentality as it did to physical form.  Yet, for all she had already passed her twenty-fourth birthday, she was amazingly innocent of those things which are counted as the governing factors of a woman’s life.  Certainly she knew and loved the Titian hue of her wealth of hair; her mirror was constantly telling her of the hazel depths of her wide, intelligent eyes, with their fringes of dark, curling, Celtic lashes.  Then the almost classic moulding of her features.  She could not escape realising these things.  But they meant no more to her than the fact that her nose was not awry, and her lips were not misshapen, and her even, white teeth were perfectly competent for their proper function.

She was a happy blending of soul and mentality.  Heredity seemed to have done its best for her.  The Gaelic fire and the brilliance and irresponsibility of her misguided father seemed to have been balanced and tempered by the gentle woman soul of her mother.  And through the eyes of both she gazed out upon the world, inspired and supported by a tireless nervous energy.

Since the memorable day of her interview with her appointed trustee, Charles Nisson, her development had been rapid.  The events which had suddenly been flung into her life at the interview seemed to have unloosed a hundred latent, unguessed emotions in her child heart, and translated her at once into a thinking, high-spirited woman.

She honestly strove to banish bitterness against the man who had deprived her of that mother love which had been her childhood’s treasure, but always a shadow of it remained to colour her thought, and influence her impulse.  She had studied the deed of settlement as she had promised.  She had studied it coldly, dispassionately.  She had looked upon it as a mere document aimed to benefit her, without regard for her feelings for the man who had made it.  She had thought over it at night when passion was less to be controlled.  She had consulted those she had been bidden to consult, and had listened to, and had weighed their kindly advice.  And when all was done she took her own decision as she was bound to do.  It was a decision that had no relation to reason, only to passionate impulse.

She would not accept the things the deed offered her.  She would not accept this reparation so coldly held out.  She would not live a leisured, vegetable life, with no greater ambition than to marry and bear children.  The simple prospect of marriage and motherhood could never satisfy in itself.  That would be a happy incident, but not the whole, and acceptance of that deed would surely have robbed her of the rest.

There were times when she felt the disabilities of her sex.  She knew she was deprived of the physical strength which the battle of life seemed to demand.  But to her the world was wide, and big, and, in her girl’s imagination, teeming with appealing adventure.  The world alone could not satisfy her.