There was a small paned, leaded window which filled a large part of one side of the room, and its deep seat was an agreeable feature.

Sitting in it, one looked out over several red-walled gardens, and through breaks in the trees of the park to a fair beyond.

Bettina stood before this window for a few moments, and then took a seat in the embrasure, that she might gaze out and reflect at leisure.
Her genius, as has before been mentioned, was the genius for living, for being vital.

Many people merely exist, are kept alive by others, or continue to vegetate because the persistent action of normal functions will allow of their doing no less.

Bettina Vanderpoel had lived vividly, and in the midst of a self-created atmosphere of action from her first hour.