No, there was nothing left to sell or pawn--for her dire necessity had driven her to the pawnshop, that last refuge of the destitute, that dire rubicon which, having passed it, a girl like Celia feels is the last barrier between her and self-respect.
A letter lay on the table; it was one from the Museum lad, Reggie Rex, thanking her, with all the fervency of youth, for the words she had written in praise of his story; the hope, the encouragement she had implanted in his breast.

She envied him, as she envied everyone who had enough to purchase a loaf, a glass of milk.

Then the incident in which he had figured passed from her mind.

The strains of Mr.Clendon's violin stole up to her; but that brought no peace, no joy; to enjoy good music when one is starving is an impossibility; the sounds irritated her, and she was glad when they ceased.
Presently she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and a knock came at her door.

She rose, painfully, wearily, and moved with difficulty; for the floor seemed to rock under her, the room to swing round.