CHAPTER I

respectinBlueCastles. But,onthismorningofherdayoffate,ValancycouldnotfindthekeyofherBlueCastle.Realitypressedonhertoohardly,barkingatherheelslikeamaddeninglittledog.Shewastwenty-nine,lonely,undesired,ill-favoured—theonlyhomelygirlinahandsomeclan,withnopastandnofuture.Asfarasshecouldlookback,lifewasdrabandcolourless,withnotonesinglecrimsonorpurplespotanywhere.Asfarasshecouldlookforwarditseemedcertaintobejustthesameuntilshewasnothingbutasolitary,littlewitheredleafclingingtoawintrybough.Themomentwhenawomanrealisesthatshehasnothingtolivefor—neitherlove,duty,purposenorhope—holdsforherthebitternessofdeath. “AndIjusthavetogoonlivingbecauseIcan’tstop.Imayhavetoliveeightyyears,”thoughtValancy,inakindofpanic.“We’reallhorriblylong-lived.Itsickensmetothinkofit.” Shewasgladitwasraining—orrather,shewasdrearilysatisfiedthatitwasraining.Therewouldbenopicnicthatday.Thisannualpicnic,wherebyAuntandUncleWellington—onealwaysthoughtoftheminthatsuccession—inevitablycelebratedtheirengagementatapicnicthirtyyearsbefore,hadbeen,oflateyears,averitablenightmaretoValancy.Byanimpishcoincidenceitwasthesamedayasherbirthdayand,aftershehadpassedtwenty-five,nobodyletherforgetit. Muchasshehatedgoingtothepicnic,itwouldneverhaveoccurredtohertorebelagainstit.Thereseemedtobenothingoftherevolutionaryinhernature.Andsheknewexactlywhateveryonewouldsaytoheratthepicnic.UncleWellington,whomshedislikedanddespisedeventhoughhehadfulfilledthehighestStirlingaspiration,“marryingmoney,”wouldsaytoherinapig’swhisper,“Notthinkingofgettingmarriedyet,mydear?”andthengooffintothebellowoflaughterwithwhichheinvariablyconcludedhisdullremarks.AuntWellington,ofwhomValancystoodinabjectawe,wouldtellheraboutOlive’snewchiffondressandCecil’slastdevotedletter.ValancywouldhavetolookaspleasedandinterestedasifthedressandletterhadbeenhersorelseAuntWellingtonwouldbeoffended.AndValancyhadlongagodecidedthatshewouldratheroffendGodthanAuntWellington,becauseGodmightforgiveherbutAuntWellingtonneverwould. AuntAlberta,enormouslyfat,withanamiablehabitofalwaysreferringtoherhusbandas“he,”asifheweretheonlymalecreatureintheworld,whocouldneverforgetthatshehadbeenagreatbeautyinheryouth,wouldcondolewithValancyonhersallowskin— “Idon’tknowwhyallthegirlsoftodayaresosunburned.WhenIwasagirlmyskinwasrosesandcream.IwascountedtheprettiestgirlinCanada,mydear.” PerhapsUncleHerbertwouldn’tsayanything—orperhapshewouldremarkjocularly,“Howfatyou’regetting,Doss!”Andtheneverybodywouldlaughovertheexcessivelyhumorousideaofpoor,scrawnylittleDossgettingfat. Handsome,solemnUncleJames,whomValancydislikedbutrespectedbecausehewasreputedtobeverycleverandwasthereforetheclanoracle—brainsbeingnonetooplentifulintheStirlingconnection—wouldprobablyremarkwiththeowl-likesarcasmthathadwonhimhisreputation,“Isupposeyou’rebusywithyourhope-chestthesedays?” AndUncleBenjaminwouldasksomeofhisabominableconundrums,betweenwheezychuckles,andanswerthemhimself. “WhatisthedifferencebetweenDossandamouse? “ThemousewishestoharmthecheeseandDosswishestocharmthehe’s.” Valancyhadheardhimaskthatriddlefiftytimesandeverytimeshewantedtothrowsomethingathim.Butsheneverdid.Inthefirstplace,theStirlingssimplydidnotthrowthingsinthesecondplace,UncleBenjaminwasawealthyandchildlessol