as ready to give herself to
this new life with all her soul and strength--she could say nothing.

They waited.

At last her aunt said:

"Good-night, dear Maggie."

"Good-night, Aunt Elizabeth."

She stole away, leaving the candle upon the chest of drawers; the cat
followed her, swinging his tail.

Left alone, Maggie felt the whole sweep of her excitement. She was
exhausted, her body felt as though it had been trampled upon, she was
so tired that she could scarcely drag her clothes from her, but the
exaltation of her spirit was beyond and above all this. Half undressed
she stood before the long mirror. She had never before possessed a long
looking-glass, and now she seemed to see herself as she really was for
the first time. Was she very ugly and unattractive? Yes, she must be
with that stumpy body, those thick legs and arms, that short nose and
large mouth. And she did not know what to do to herself to make herself
attractive. Other girls knew but she had never had any one who could
tell her. Perhaps she would make girl friends now who would show her.

But, after all, she did not care. She was herself. People who did not
like her could leave her--yes they could, and she would not stir a
finger to fetch them back.

Then, deep down in her soul, she knew that she wanted success, a
magnificent life, a great future. Nay more, she expected it. She had
force and strength, and she would compel life to give her what she
wanted. She laughed at herself in the glass. She was happy, almost
triumphant, and for no reason at all.

She went to her windows and opened them; there came up to her the
tramping progress of the motor-omnibuses. They advanced, like elephants
charging down a jungle, nearer, nearer, nearer. Before the tramp of one
had passed another was advancing, and then upon that
another--ceaselessly, advancing and retreating.

In her nightdress she leaned out of the window, poised, as it seemed to
her, above a swaying carpet of lights.

Life seemed to hold every promise in store for her.

She crossed to her bed, drew the clothes about her and, forgetting her
supper, forgetting all that had happened to her, her journey, her
fainting, the young man, Edward the parrot, she fell into a slumber as
deep, as secure, as death itself.

CHAPTER IV

THE CHAPEL

Maggie woke next morning to a strange silence. Many were the silent
mornings that had greeted her at St. Dreots, but this was silence with
a differen