received from a pawnbroker in exchange for two of her least prized
trinkets. Going out in all weathers to look for employment had not
improved her clothes; her best pair of boots let in water; she was
jaded, heartsick, dispirited. As with others in a like plight, she
dared not look into the immediate future, this holding only
terrifying probabilities of disaster; the present moment was all
sufficient; little else mattered, and, although to-morrow promised
actual want, there was yet hope that a sudden turn of fortune's
wheel would remove the dread menace of impending ruin. One evening,
Mavis, dazed with disappointment at failing to secure an all but
promised berth, wandered aimlessly from the city in a westerly
direction. She scarcely knew where she was going or what quarter of
London she had reached. She was only aware that she was surrounded
by every evidence of well-being and riches. The pallid, worried
faces of the frequenters of the city were now succeeded by the well-
fed, contented looks of those who appeared as if they did not know
the meaning of the word care. Splendid carriages, costly motor cars
passed in never-ending procession. As Mavis glanced at the expensive
dresses of the women, the wind-tanned faces of the men, she thought
how, but for a wholly unlooked-for reverse of fortune, these would
be the people with whom she would be associating on equal terms. The
thought embittered her; she quickened her steps in order to leave
behind her the opulent surroundings so different from her own, A
little crowd, consisting of those entering and waiting about the
door of a tea-shop, obstructed her. An idea suddenly possessed her.
Confronted with want, she wondered if she had enough money to snatch
a brief half-hour's respite from her troubles. She looked in her
purse, to find it contained three shillings. The next moment, she
was moving in the direction of the tea-room, her habitual husbandry
making a poor fight against the over-mastering desire possessing