The poor Cuckoo was only too well aware of the deficiencies in her home and upbringing, but the least hint of them from others immediately put her on the defensive.

In her own way she was very proud, and though there was a vast difference between Stephanie's stinging remarks and Ulyth's well-meant kindness, anything that savoured of compassion wounded her dignity.
The conversation brought urgently to Ulyth a question which had been disturbing her, and which she had persistently tried to banish from her thoughts.

Where was Rona going to spend Christmas?
So far as anyone knew she had not a friend or relation in the British Isles.

Miss Bowes and Miss Teddington always went away for the holidays, and The Woodlands was left in the charge of servants.

Rona could not stay at the school, surely?
Had Miss Bowes made any arrangement for her?
Ulyth vacillated for at least five minutes, then took out her writing-case and began a letter home.
"BEST-BELOVED MOTHERKINS, "I am such a nasty, horrid, selfish thing! In every one of your letters you have hinted and hinted and hinted that we should ask Rona for Christmas.