The room, which looked upon a porch, presented a singular combination of
masculine business occupations and feminine taste and adornment. A desk
covered with papers, a shelf displaying a ledger and account-books,
another containing works of reference, a table with a vase of flowers
and a lady's riding-whip upon it, a map of California flanked on either
side by an embroidered silken workbag and an oval mirror decked with
grasses, a calendar and interest-table hanging below two school-girl
crayons of classic heads with the legend, "Josephine Forsyth
fecit,"--were part of its incongruous accessories. The young girl
went to her desk, but presently moved and turned towards the window
thoughtfully. The last gleam had died from the steel-blue sky; a
few lights like star points began to prick out the lower valley. The
expression of monotonous restraint and endurance had not yet faded from
her face.
Yet she had been accustomed to scenes like the one she had just passed
though since her girlhood.
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