Then her personal life had seemed to become a part of the life of the street, of the sky, of the mysterious city outlined against the gray background of dusk.

To-day she walked alone and without sympathy through the crowd.

Her feet dragged, and she felt dully that she had lost her share in both the street and the sky.

The very faces of the men and women around her--those lethargic foreign faces which crowded out the finer American type--awoke in her the sensation of hopeless revolt which one feels before the impending destruction of higher forms by masses of inert and conscienceless matter.

She thought gloomily: "I have lost the vision--there is no hope either for me or for America except in the clear vision of the future." And while she spoke there passed over her the vague feeling of loss, of something missing, as if a precious possession had slipped from her grasp.
Her morning's work was unusually trying, and at one o'clock, when she put on her hat before going out to lunch, she asked herself dejectedly: "What can be the matter with me?
Before I go home I'll take a taxicab and drive up Riverside for an hour.