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We had gone out among the bare shrubs that morning. By the time we finished dinner, the winter wind had brought in a rain that put an end to any thought of going out again.

I was glad to stay indoors. A long walk in the cold meant sore fingers, an early dusk, and another chance for Bessie to remind me how little I resembled my cousins.

Eliza, John, and Georgiana had gathered around their mother beside the fire. Mrs. Reed rested on the sofa, quite at ease while her children were quiet.

She told me to sit apart. Perhaps, she said, I might join them another day, when I had learned to be more agreeable.

“What does Bessie say I have done?”

Mrs. Reed would hear no questions. I went into the little room beside the drawing room and looked along the shelves for a book with pictures.

I found a volume of Bewick’s birds, climbed into the window seat, and drew the red curtain. The glass was cold at my side, but the curtain kept the room out of sight.

Between the pages and the rain, I scarcely knew where I was. I paused over the pictures of lonely shores and islands, imagining the birds that could live in such a place.

I would have stayed there happily until dark. Then the door opened and John Reed began to look for me.

“I was then happy: happy at least in my way.”