Her first wild optimism had vanished. At first she had looked forward eagerly to her new life; anything at all to escape from the stultifying refinement of Aunt Mina’s home. To have some independence. To see a new place, new people. She had felt buoyed up with enthusiasm. But now… ‘What have I done?’ she thought. ‘You always were impulsive,’ she told herself. ‘Why didn’t I say I’d think it over?’ And those hints that the cab driver had dropped, as if there was something odd about the house. But, she reminded herself, it was too late now. On the step, Flora had pressed the brass bell and waited, a little anxiously. There was nothing to be seen behind the net curtains and no sign of life. Then there were footsteps, and the door was wrenched open. Flora asked timidly, ‘Is my cousin , Miss Dunbar, at home?’ ‘There now,’ said the woman who had opened the door—she was wearing a white apron and a cap, and her round rosy face broke into a smile.
