ive in places like this always; and her
heart filled with a large pity for them. Here only a small triangle of
blue sky could be seen--not a tree, not a bit of earth--and in the small
room all those heavy furnishings closed around her, dark red, stuffy,
and greasy with London smoke. She could not touch them without
blackening her hands, nor let her baby sit on the floor for the dirt he
wiped up on his clothing as he rolled and kicked about.

The room seemed to sway and tip as the ship had done, and there was a
continuous sound as of thunder, a strange undercurrent that seemed to
her strained nerves like the moaning of the lost souls of all the ages,
who had lived and toiled and smothered in this monstrous and terrible
city.

Ah, she must get out of it. She must hurry--hurry and find David. He
would be glad to see his little son. He would take him in his arms. He
would hold them both to his heart. She would see him smile again and
look in his eyes, and all this foreboding would cease, and the woful
sounds die out of the air and become only the natural roar of the
activities and traffic of a great city. She must get used to all this,
and not expect to find all the world like her own sunny mountains.

The bishop's careful little wife had tried to explain to her how to meet
her new experiences. She was to go nowhere alone, without taking a cab,
and never start out on foot, carrying her baby in her arms, as she might
do at home. She had given her written instructions how to conduct
herself under all ordinary circumstances, at her hotel or on the
street--how to ring for a servant, order her meals, or call a cab.

Now, standing before her mirror, Cassandra essayed to arrange her hair
as she had seen other young women wear theirs, but she thought the new
way looked untidy, and she took it all down and rearranged it as she was
used to wear it. David would not mind if she did not do her hair as
others did, he would be so glad to see her and his little son. Ah, the
comfort of that little son! She leaned over the bed, half dressed as she
was, and murmured pretty cooing phrases, kissing and cuddling him to
contented laughter.

Betty Towers had procured clothing for her--a modest supply--using her
own good taste, and not disguising Cassandra's natural grace and dignity
by a too-close adherence to the prevailing mode. There were a blue
travelling gown and jacket, and a toque of the same color with a white
wing; a soft clinging bl