Wise, experienced observers, studying her as she walked her ways in the streets, might have said of her with sympathetically sad conviction, "That girl is not happy! What a pity!" It was so.

And yet, in her unhappiness she was blest.

She savoured her unhappiness.

She drank it down passionately, as though it were the very water of life--which it was.

She lived to the utmost in every moment.
The recondite romance of existence was not hidden from her.