"How foolish! Am I to give up all my cherished dreams
because one man is a scoundrel?"

The struggle might be bitter, but she would not give in. London was the
mother of genius. If she destroyed she created also. It was only the weak
and the worthless she cast away. The strong she made stronger, the great
she made greater. "O God, give me the life I love!" she thought; "give me
a chance; only let me begin--no matter how, no matter where!"

She remembered her impulse of the night before to follow Brother Paul,
and the little hard lump at her heart grew bitter. John Storm had gone
from her, forgotten her, left her to take care of herself. Very well, so
be it! What was the use of thinking? "I hate to be sentimental," she
thought.

If Aggie called on Sunday night she would go with her, no matter if it
was beginning at the bottom. Others had begun there, and what right had
she to expect to begin anywhere else? For the future she would take the
world on its own terms and force it to give way. She would conquer this
great cruel London, and yet remain a good girl in spite of all.

Such was the mood in which she came down to breakfast, and the first
thing that met her eyes was a letter from home. At that her face burned
for a moment and her breath came in gusts, but she put the letter into
her pocket unopened and tossed her head a little and laughed. "I hate to
be so sensitive," she thought, and then she began to tell Mrs. Jupe what
she intended to do.

"The clubs!" cried Mrs. Jupe. "I thought you didn't tyke to the shop
because you fancied yerself above present company. But the foreign clubs!
My gracious!"

The hissing of Mrs. Jupe's taunting voice followed her about all that
day, and late at night, when they were going to bed and the streets were
quiet, and there was only the jingle of a passing hansom or a drunken
shout or the screech of a concertina, she could hear it again from the
other side of the plaster partition, interrupted occasionally by the
sound of Mr. Jupe's attempts to excuse and apologize for her. No matter!
Anything to escape from the atmosphere of that woman's house, to be free
of her and quit of her forever!

Toward eight o'clock on Sunday evening she went up to her bedroom to put
on her hat and ulster, and being alone there, and waiting for Aggie, she
could not help but open her letter from home.

"Sunday next is your birthday, my dear one," wrote the parson, "so we
send you our love and greetings