r hat and face, lifted the tin box by its
handle and opened her door softly. In that house it was still
midnight. She went quietly down the corridor, through a service hall,
down some narrow stairs, through the warm kitchen, clean for the new
labour of the day, then took out a key from her wallet, turned it
gently and stepped into the area-way. This had an iron gate and a
second key opened it: once through and the last gate locked, she put
her hand through the bars and slipped both keys under the metal frame
laid out ready for the milk bottles. No one was in sight. Alone in
the street, she gave one comprehensive, quick glance at the great
sleeping house, and drew a long, deep breath that seemed to stretch the
very depths of her lungs--one would have almost thought she had not
really breathed for a long time.

Then she turned her back, and grasping the box and umbrella strongly, a
plain, sturdy, middle-class figure of a travelling working-woman, she
walked to a car-line, lifted her box beside her, and sitting between a
negress with three children and a plumber's bag with a kit of tools,
made her way to the downtown wharves.

Here all was activity: the day was well along for these labourers, and
she had to push her way to reach the officer who would let her board
the steamer.

"Second class," she said briefly, producing her ticket.

He ran down a list quickly. "Number sixty-three," he said, "Mrs.
Stranger."

"Yes," she answered, and still carrying her box, went in the direction
he indicated.

It was not a large steamer and not very swift, and for ten days the
sturdy figure lay inert on her chair, silent and absorbed. She had no
book, no friend, no knitting. Silently she sat and stared at the
purple horizon-line, silently she ate, silently she bestowed the modest
gratuities that brought her what little assistance she needed. Her
only social act was the nursing of the two sisters who shared her
cabin, and this was done so quietly and competently that they were
certain she was a professional nurse on her vacation.

One of the sisters, a head clerk in a great department store, offered
her a newspaper on the third day out.

"It's old," she said, "but you may like to look it over. That's Mrs.
Elliot Lestrange in the picture. That was a grand banquet she had.
I'll bet she was proud, with all that fuss made of her! Isn't she a
lovely lady?"

"It is handsome lace," Mrs. Stranger agreed.

"My, it's a fortu