Her hair was rolled under and tied at the top of her head, and it had an odd tendency to go astray about the parting.
This was, perhaps, partly from a trick she seemed to have of doing her hair away from the looking-glass.

She stood to do it, and also (on one leg) to put on her shoes and stockings, which amused us.

But she was always on her feet, and seemed unhappy if she sat idle.

We took her for a walk the morning after her arrival, and walked faster than we had ever walked before to keep pace with our new friend, who strode along in her thick boots and undistended skirts with a step like that of a kilted Highlander.
When we came into the town, however, she was quite willing to pause before the shop-windows, which gave her much entertainment.
"I'm afraid I should always be looking in at the windows if I lived in a town," she said, "there are such pretty things." Eleanor laughs when I remind her of that walk, and how we stood still by every chemist's door because she liked the smell.

When anything interested her, she stopped, but at other times she walked as if she were on the road to some given place, and determined to be there in good time; or perhaps it would be more just to say that she walked as if walking were a pleasure to her.