She was a dear good girl.

In a modern way she claimed her little independence.

We let her have it.

We trusted her.

We took it for granted--you know it, Duncan, as well as I do--that, a hot night in June--not able to sleep--she had stuck on a hat and wandered about the grounds, as she had often done before, and a spirit of childish adventure had tempted her, that night, to walk round the back of the town and--and--well, until in the dark, she stepped off the tow-path by the lock gates, into nothing--and found the canal.