"It's life I'm living, not a fairy tale," she told herself sternly as she posted the letter and left the hotel.

"It's life I'm living, and life is hard, however you take it." For a few blocks she walked on briskly, thinking of the shop windows and of the brightness and gaiety of the crowd in Fifth Avenue; but in spite of her efforts, her thoughts fluttered back presently to herself and her own problems.

"After all, you can't become a victim unless you give in," she said grimly; "and I'll die rather than become a victim." Her walk kept her out until five o'clock, and when she entered the house at that hour she found her mother-in-law in the front hall giving directions to Burrows.

At sight of Gabriella she paused breathlessly, and said with undisguised nervousness: "A very queer-looking person who says she was sent by your mother has just come to see you, dear--a seamstress of some kind, I fancy.

As she looked quite clean, I let her go upstairs to the nursery to wait for you.