Compelled to sail suddenly. Shall be back in a few weeks.
Don't mind this annoying interruption. R. B.

A very few minutes after she read these words, she was at work
on the play. But--a very few minutes thereafter she was
sitting with the play in her lap, eyes gazing into the black
and menacing future. The misgivings of the night before had
been fed and fattened into despairing certainties by the
events of the day. The sun was shining, never more brightly;
but it was not the light of her City of the Sun. She stayed
in all afternoon and all evening. During those hours before
she put out the light and shut herself away in the dark a
score of Susans, every one different from every other, had
been seen upon the little theater of that lodging house
parlor-bedroom. There had been a hopeful Susan, a sad but
resolved Susan, a strong Susan, a weak Susan; there had been
Susans who could not have shed a tear; there had been Susans
who shed many tears--some of them Susans all bitterness,
others Susans all humility and self-reproach. Any spectator
would have been puzzled by this shifting of personality.
Susan herself was completely confused. She sought for her
real self among this multitude so contradictory. Each
successive one seemed the reality; yet none persisted. When
we look in at our own souls, it is like looking into a
many-sided room lined with mirrors. We see
reflections--re-reflections--views at all angles--but we
cannot distinguish the soul itself among all these
counterfeits, all real yet all false because partial.

"What shall I do? What can I do? What will I do?"--that was
her last cry as the day ended. And it was her first cry as
her weary brain awakened for the new day.

At the end of the week came the regular check with a note from
Garvey--less machine-like, more human. He apologized for not
having called, said one thing and another had prevented, and
now illness of a near relative compelled him to leave town for
a few days, but as soon as he came back he would immediately
call. It seemed to Susan that there could be but one reason
why he should call--the reason that would make a timid,
soft-hearted man such as he put off a personal interview as
long as he could find excuses. She flushed hot with rage and
shame as she reflected on her position. Garvey pitying her!
She straightway sat down and wrote:

DEAR MR. GARVEY: Do not send me any more checks until Mr.
Brent comes back and