right to live? Nothing is so ineffectual as the little word "why"; it
asks, but never answers.

With a deep sigh Jennie dried her tears as the carriage pulled up at
the portal of the hotel. The sigh dismissed all frivolities, all futile
"whys"; the girl was now face to face with the realities of life, and
the events she had so recently taken part in would soon blend themselves
into a dream.

Dismissing the carriage, and walking briskly through the hall, she said
to the night porter,--

"Have a hansom at the door for me in fifteen minutes."

"A hansom, my lady?" gasped the astonished man.

"Yes." She slipped a sovereign into his hand and ran lightly up the
stairs. The porter was well accustomed to the vagaries of great ladies,
although a hansom at midnight was rather beyond his experience. But if
all womankind tipped so generously, they might order an omnibus, and
welcome; so the hansom was speedily at the door.

Jennie roused the drowsy maid who was sitting up for her.

"Come," she said, "you must get everything packed at once. Lay out my
ordinary dress and help me off with this."

"Where is your other glove, my lady?" asked the maid, busily unhooking,
and untying.