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drooped, and she slept. Later on, coffee and sandwiches refreshed her, but a little thing decided her to change her destination after all. The very harmless attentions of a fellow-passenger, a young man who offered her magazines and fruit, and informed her that he was going to Portland, set her nerves quivering again. Anyone who had noticed her at all was a danger, and the further she went the better, surely. When the train stopped at Portland she got out and took another ticket, this time to Vancouver.

When at last the long journey was over, and, tired and forlorn, she stepped on to the noisy platform, she followed the first hotel porter who offered to take her luggage, and found herself presently in a rather dingy hotel, which at least did not look expensive, for she knew that every cent mattered to her now. Having made herself as fresh as possible under the circumstances, she started out in quest of a newspaper, with the faint hope that someone, not particular about references or previous experience, might desire a companion or nursery governess.

“I don’t suppose it’s very likely that I shall find anything like that,” she thought, pale and anxious small ghost of the spoilt and radiant Pamela who had quarrelled with Tony in London such a few months ago; “but I shall try hard. I don’t know how much is true of what they said, but probably long before I can get back they will have written all their point of view to Aunt Sophia. Everyone will know, and what will they make me do? I must stay away longer; I can’t go back.”

In the corridor she encountered a plain, grey-haired lady, severe yet kindly of face. Pamela asked her where she should find a newspaper.

“The writing-room is on the next floor. There are all the daily papers there, but if you care to have it, I have finished with my own paper. I will give it to you.”

She vanished into her room, which was next Pamela’s.