"I'll be good." She sat in the dusk after Flossie had gone; and the laboured breathing of the tired city came to her through the open window.

She had rather fancied that martyr's crown.

It had not looked so very heavy, the thorns not so very alarming--as seen through the window.

She would wear it bravely.

It would rather become her.
Facing the mirror of the days to come, she tried it on.