Her pride, it is true, had suffered sharply for an hour; but so superficial was the wound that the distraction of seeking work had been almost sufficient to heal it.
"A most extraordinary day for January," remarked the judge as they reached a corner.

"You hardly need your furs, the air is so mild." Overhead small, birdlike clouds drifted in flocks across a sky of changeable brightness, and the wind, blowing past the tray of a flower vendor at the corner, was faintly scented with violets.

It was one of those rare days when happiness seems as natural as the wind or the sunlight, when the wildest dreams appear not too wild to come true in reality, when one hopes by instinct and believes, not with the reason, but with the blood.

To Gabriella, forgetting her humiliation, it was a day when life for the sake of the mere act of living--when life, in spite of disappointment and loss and treachery and shame, was enough to set the heart bounding with happiness.

For she was one of those who loved life, not for what it brought to her of pleasure, but for what it was in itself.
"Yes, it is a lovely afternoon," she answered, and added impulsively: "It is good to be alive, isn't it ?" She had forgotten George, but even if she had remembered him, it would have made little difference.