ady to take her part, till the thought came that a part had
been refused her. It was with a curious sensation of being outside the
range of human activities that, during those days of timid, futile
looking for employment, she roamed the busy thoroughfares of New York.
As time passed she ceased to think much about her need of sympathetic
fellowship in her anxiety to get work. She wrote advertisements and
answered them; she applied at schools, and offices, and shops; she came
down to seeking any humble drudgery which would give her the chance to
live.

It was not till one day in early December that the last flicker of her
hope went out. Chance had made her pass at midday along the pavement
opposite one of the great restaurants. Lifting her eyes instinctively
toward the group of well-dressed people on the steps, she saw that Mrs.
Bayford and Marion Grimston were going in, accompanied by Reggie
Bradford and the Marquis de Bienville. She had heard little or nothing
of them during the last four empty months; but it was plain now that the
lovers were agreed and her own cause abandoned. Up to this moment she
had not realized how tenaciously she had clung to the belief that the
proud, high-souled girl would yet see justice done her; and now she had
deserted her, like the rest!

For the first time during her years of struggle she felt absolutely
beaten--beaten so thoroughly that it would be useless to renew the
fight. She had been on her way to see a lady who had advertised for a
nursery governess; but she had no strength left with which to face the
interview. In the winter-garden of the restaurant Mrs. Bayford was
purring to her guests, Reggie Bradford was whispering to Miss Grimston,
and the Marquis de Bienville was ordering the wines, while Diane was
wandering blindly back to the poor little room she called her home,
there to lie down and allow her heart to break.

But hearts do not break at the command of those who own them, and when
she had moaned away the worst of her pain, she fell asleep. When she
awoke it was already growing dark, and the knocking at her door, which
roused her, was like a call from the peace of dreams to the desolation
of reality. When she had turned on the light she received from the hands
of the waiting servant that which had become a most rare visitant in the
blankness of her life--a note.

The address was in a sprawling hand, which she recognized. What was
written within was more sprawling still: