Ready even to her hat and gloves, she sank into an armchair to wait an hour or so before venturing forth. Not until she sat there, gazing with half-unseeing eyes around the delicate room, did she begin to grasp the full significance of the complete change that had so suddenly taken place in her circumstances. Not only was her path in life to lie apart from Morris Kenyon's for evermore, but she was abruptly and unexpectedly plunged into the direst poverty. She had no hope, even remotely, of a reconciliation with her onetime lover, but she felt curiously calm and indifferent now. Then, although she knew well enough that poverty, with all its shifts, deprivations and unpleasantnesses would be hateful to her--she could not feel really concerned at the prospect. Nothing mattered--nothing ever could matter again! Everything was finished! She was without the least idea of what she could possibly do to earn an honest livelihood. As far as went that capacity, she was every whit as ill-placed as when her father died. True, she had been studying art, more or less seriously, for the last three years, but no one knew better than herself how futile would be any attempt to earn money by this means. What then? The effort to think was painful. What had come over her? Somehow she seemed incapable of even remembering trades or professions, to see if she could not manage to fulfil the necessary qualifications. What did other young women do? Oh! of course, they were governesses, or children's nurses, or companions to invalids or old ladies, or--or--that sort of thing! But posts such as these surely required some capacity, and above all, a good reputation. She was, then, in truth, worse off than when she had first left Heatherington with Morris, so confident, so full of hopes for the future. What were girls allowed to do without their miserable past existences being scrutinised? How about telephone girls and those who served in shops of one sort and another, those who were attendants in restaurants? Those who--who--well! She couldn't think of anything else just then; but there was clearly quite a choice of honest ways of grubbing up a livelihood--if one must live at all! Without exception, all appeared absolutely hateful. Viewed in anticipation, it seemed as if she might as well be dead at once, as devote all the days of one week to earning just enough to keep herself alive the next week, so that she might work through that, in order to be able to live the next seven days, and so on, and so on, with cheap clothes, poor food, scarce and low-class diversions, until old age overtook her--and then--what?