aster presents,
birthday presents, presents for no particular excuse except that she was
their little girl and they loved her. It seemed to Joan as if into the
black box which contained all these treasures she had laid away also
their love for her. It took on almost the appearance of a coffin and
she hated it.

Miss Abercrombie saw her off at the station next morning. She had given
Joan several addresses where she could look for rooms and was coming up
to London in about a month herself, and would take Joan back with her
into the country. "I want you to remember, though," she added, "that you
can always come to me any time before that if you feel inclined. You
need not even write; just turn up; you have my address; I shall always
be glad to have you. I want to help you through what I know is going to
be a very bitter time."

"Thank you," Joan answered; but even at the time she had a ridiculous
feeling that Miss Abercrombie was very glad to be seeing the last of
her.

After the train had slid out of the station and the small, purposeful
figure had vanished from sight she sat back and tried to collect her
thoughts to review the situation. She was feeling tired and desperately
unhappy. They had let her see, even these dear people whom of all others
in the world she loved, that she had gone outside their pale. She was in
their eyes an outcast, a leper. She was afraid to see in other people's
eyes the look of horror and agony which she had read in Aunt Janet's. Of
what use was her book-learned wisdom in the face of this, it vanished
into thin air. Hopeless, ashamed, yet a little defiant, Joan sat and
stared at the opposite wall of the railway carriage.

At Victoria Station she put her luggage into the cloak-room, deciding to
see what could be done in the way of rooms, without the expense of going
from place to place in a cab. The places Miss Abercrombie had
recommended her to struck her as being expensive, and it seemed to her
tortured nerves as if the landladies viewed her with distrustful eyes.
She finally decided to take a bus down to Chelsea; she remembered having
heard from someone that Chelsea was a cheap and frankly Bohemian place
to live in.

London was not looking its very best on this particular morning. A
green-grey fog enshrouded shops and houses, the Park was an invisible
blur and the atmosphere smarted in people's eyes and irritated their
throats. Despite the contrariness of the weather, Joan clambered on