h had been played in London.

And so the days passed and ran into each other, impersonal and
unselfish days. The story of Margaret's individual life was marking
time; but if her romance was arrested, her sympathies were expanding.
It was impossible for her to be dull, and she did not allow herself to
be sad. Freddy's example forbade self-pity or repining.

Of society in London she knew nothing and cared less. The war had put
"society" out of fashion. If she could count amongst her friends many
strange and questionable characters, they helped and cheered her as
nothing else could have done. More than one poor home in which there
was little food and much courage looked forward to the visits of the
tall, dark girl, whom they called by no other name than "Our V.A.D."

It was her intimate acquaintance with the inner life of some of
London's poor, and the example they unconsciously set her by their
cheerful acceptance of their pitiful circumstances and hideous
surroundings, which made Margaret see how contemptible it would be to
indulge in self-pity or repining. They expected so little, while she
wanted so much--perfect happiness as well as worldly prosperity. They
contrived to get enjoyment out of life even when it seemed to her that
they would be better dead. She had a thousand things in life which had
been denied to them. How could she expect to be given everything?
There she was face to face with crowds of human beings who exaggerated
their joys and rose above their afflictions. The unconquerable courage
of the poor--that was what life in London was teaching Margaret.

* * * * * *

It was one wet afternoon when she was seated in a Lyons' tea-shop, in a
crowded part of a West End shopping district, waiting for a cup of
coffee to be brought to her, that the strange incident happened. To
make use of her time, she had taken out a small writing-tablet which
she carried in a bag with her knitting, and was beginning to write a
letter to her Aunt Anna. She had written the first words, "Dear Aunt
Anna," and had paused before writing further. Her pencil was close to
her tablet; her mind was thinking of what she was going to say.
Suddenly her hand began writing very fast, automatically, something
after the manner in which an actor writes on the stage. Margaret let
it write swiftly and uninterruptedly, without either considering it
strange that it should be doing so, or wondering, at t