t Mavis and then at one another in astonishment.

"I defy anyone to prove that I'm not a lady," cried Miss Impett, as she
bounced out of the room.

"I'm as good as you any day," declared Miss Potter, as she went to the
door.

"Yes, that we are," cried Miss Allen defiantly, as she joined her
friend.

Mavis sat wearily on her bed. Her head ached; her body seemed incapable
of further effort; worst of all, her soul was steeped in despair.

"What have I done, oh, what have I done to deserve this misery?" she
cried out.

This outburst strengthened her: needs cried for satisfaction in her
body, the chief of these being movement and air. She walked to the
window and looked out on the cloudless September night; there was a
chill in the air, imparting to its sweetness a touch of austerity.
Mavis wondered from what peaceful scenes it came, to what untroubled
places it was going. The thought that she was remote from the stillness
for which her heart hungered exasperated her; she closed the window in
order to spare herself being tortured by the longing which the night
air awoke in her being. The atmosphere of the room was foul when
compared with the air she had just breathed; it seemed to get her by
the throat, to be on the point of stifling her. The next moment she had
pinned on her hat, caught up her gloves, and scurried into the street.
Two minutes later she was in Oxford Street, where she was at once
merged into a stream of girls, a stream almost as wide as the pavement,
which was sluggishly moving in the direction of the Park. This flow was
composed of every variety of girl: tall, stumpy, medium, dark, fair,
auburn, with dispositions as varied as their appearances. Many were
aglow with hope and youthful ardour; others were well over their first
fine frenzy of young blood. There were wise virgins, foolish virgins,
vain girls, clever girls, elderly girls, dull girls, laughing girls,
amorous girls, spiteful girls, girls with the toothache, girls
radiantly happy in the possession of some new, cheap finery: all
wending their way towards the Marble Arch. Most walked in twos and
threes, a few singly; some of these latter were hurrying and darting
amongst the listless walk of the others in their eagerness to keep
appointments with men. Whatever their age, disposition, or condition,
they were all moved by a common desire--to enjoy a crowded hour of
liberty after the toil and fret of the day. As Mavis moved with the
flow of this