When I was ready I critically surveyed myself in the long mirror. I was looking my best, I decided. The sage green linen frock suited my colouring and as the day was hot and sunny I wore a wide-brimmed hat of burnt orange that flopped against my shoulders. Downstairs I could hear Mrs. McAlister rattling busily at the kitchen stove. She had promised to stay on until I returned. I felt faintly annoyed with myself for caring how I looked, but then I assured myself firmly that it was simply a gesture of defiance.It was Mrs. McAlister who punctured my self-confidence.When I went downstairs she tamed from the stove, her face scarlet where she had been frying kippers for what she called her ‘high tea.’ ‘Well, dearie, you certainly look a fair picture,’ she exclaimed with an air of unflattering astonishment. She chuckled insinuatingly. ‘It’s plain that Mr. Vance must have taken your fancy, but then it’s not surprising, for all the lassies hereabouts are daft after him. Though goodness knows he’s not what you’d call handsome.
