She was saying good-bye to childhood and home, and her making; she was going out into the great, multitudinous world; this time there would be no returning. It ought not to be much. There was a very white-faced youngster of eighteen who brushed back his hair exactly in Russell’s manner, and was disposed to be uncomfortably silent when he was near her, and to whom she felt it was only Christian kindness to be consistently pleasant; and a lax young man of five-and-twenty in navy blue, who mingled Marx and Bebel with the more orthodox gods of the biological pantheon. I have calculated my chances, you perceive. I am shockingly poor.
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