“Thank you,” remarked Miss Potter, in the manner of one bestowing a favour.  Mavis mended the rent quickly and skilfully.  Perhaps her ready needle softened the haughty Miss Potter’s heart towards her, for the beauty said: 

“Where are you off to to-night?”

“Nowhere,” answered Mavis.

“Nowhere!” echoed Miss Potter disdainfully, while the other occupants of the room ejaculated “My!”

“Haven’t you a ’boy’?” asked Miss Potter.

“A what?”

“A young man then,” said Miss Potter, as she made a deft line beneath her left eye with an eye pencil.

“I don’t know any young men,” remarked Mavis.

“Hadn’t you better be quick and pick up one?” asked Miss Impett.

“I don’t care to make chance acquaintances,” answered Mavis.

To her surprise, her remark aroused the other girls’ ire; they looked at Mavis and then at one another in astonishment.

“I defy anyone to prove that I’m not a lady,” cried Miss Impett, as she bounced out of the room.

“I’m as good as you any day,” declared Miss Potter, as she went to the door.

“Yes, that we are,” cried Miss Allen defiantly, as she joined her friend.

Mavis sat wearily on her bed.  Her head ached; her body seemed incapable of further effort; worst of all, her soul was steeped in despair.

“What have I done, oh, what have I done to deserve this misery?” she cried out.

This outburst strengthened her:  needs cried for satisfaction in her body, the chief of these being movement and air.  She walked to the window and looked out on the cloudless September night; there was a chill in the air, imparting to its sweetness a touch of austerity.  Mavis wondered from what peaceful scenes it came, to what untroubled places it was going.  The thought that she was remote from the stillness for which her heart hungered exasperated her; she closed the window in order to spare herself being tortured by the longing which the night air awoke in her being.  The atmosphere of the room was foul when compared with the air she had just breathed; it seemed to get her by the throat, to be on the point of stifling her.  The next moment she had pinned on her hat, caught up her gloves, and scurried into the street.  Two minutes later she was in Oxford Street, where she was at once merged into a stream of girls, a stream almost as wide as the pavement, which was sluggishly moving in the direction of the Park.  This flow was composed of every variety of girl:  tall, stumpy, medium, dark, fair, auburn, with dispositions as varied as their appearances.  Many were aglow with hope and youthful ardour; others were well over their first fine frenzy of young blood.  There were wise virgins, foolish virgins, vain girls, clever girls, elderly girls, dull girls, laughing girls, amorous girls, spiteful girls, girls with the toothache, girls radiantly happy in the possession of some new, cheap finery:  all wending their way towards the