She was by no means proud, it was not in the Ravn nature to be so;
but at ten years old she had left off playing; she preferred to
wander in the woods and compose ballads. At twelve she insisted on
wearing silk dresses, and, in the teeth of an aunt all curls and
lace and with a terrible flow of words, she carried her point. She
held herself erect and prim in her silks, and still remained
NUMBER ONE. She composed verses about Sir Adge and Maid Else,
about birds and flowers and sad things.
On reaching the age at which other girls, who have the means,
begin to wear silk dresses, she left them off. She was tired, she
said, of the "smooth and glossy."
She now grew enthusiastic for fine wool and expensive velvet of
every shade. Dresses in the Renaissance style became her
favourites, and the subject of her studies. She puffed out her
bodices like those in Leonardo's and Rafael's portraits of women,
and tried in other ways as well to resemble them.
She left off writing verses, and wrote stories instead; the style
was good, though they were anything rather than spontaneous.
They were short, with a more or less clear pointe.
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