entitled her to her liberty, and to neglect to seize it would be to
condemn herself to continuous unhappiness, for this overt act of his was
merely a definite proof of the lack of sympathy between them, of which
she had for some time been well aware at heart. As she walked along the
street she was conscious that it was a relief to her to be sloughing off
the garment of an uncongenial relationship and to be starting life
afresh. There was nothing in her immediate surroundings from which she
was not glad to escape. Their house was full of blemishes from the
stand-point of her later knowledge, and she yearned to dissociate
herself, once and for all, from the trammels of her pitiful mistake. She
barely entertained the thought that she was without means. She would
have to support herself, of course, but it never occurred to her to
doubt her ability to do so, and the necessity added a zest to her
decision. It would be plain sailing, for Mrs. Earle had more than once
invited her to send copy to the _Benham Sentinel_, and there was no form
of occupation which would be more to her liking than newspaper work. It
was almost with the mien of a prisoner escaped from jail that she walked
in upon her friend and said:

"I have left my husband. He has been unfaithful to me."

In Mrs. Earle, conventional feminine instincts were apt, before she had
time to think, to get the upper hand of her set theories. "You, poor,
poor child," she cried extending her arms.

Selma had not intended to weep. Still the opportunity was convenient,
and her nerves were on edge. She found herself sobbing with her head on
Mrs. Earle's, bosom, and telling her sad story.

"He was never good enough for you. I have always said so," Mrs. Earle