She went to her own in some bewilderment.

After having been immured for some three years in close attendance on an invalided woman shut up in two rooms, she was like a person walking along a dark road and suddenly caught in the glare of motor lamps.

Brought into contact with such a personality as Helena Pitstone promised to be, she felt helpless and half blind.

A survival, too; for this world into which she had now stepped was one quite new to her.

Yet when she had first shut herself up in Lancaster Gate she had never been conscious of any great difference between herself and other women or girls.