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and humble the haughty Mrs. Langham to the earth in so doing.

“Surely,” she thought, smiling cynically, “the Recording Angel would give her several good marks for that!”

Others had endeavoured to humble Mrs. Langham, but the lady had frightened them off or out-manœuvred them. Patricia Weybourn had no capacity for fear now. She had nothing more to lose. And in worldly wisdom and recklessness of tongue she knew herself to be Mrs. Langham’s superior.

A wild desire to smash this town which had broken her, to outrage its snobocracy by tearing it apart and exposing its straw stuffing to the jeers of the crowd, to give the community something to remember her by, took possession of her. She was finished with the place, but she would leave with her head up and a memorable cloud of dust behind her.

After that, nothing mattered. She would lose herself somewhere, no doubt. Who cared what became of her? Not she.

When the meeting had broken up, groups of earnest men and women remained upon the stage and in the auditorium—committees Nos. 1 to 7, and their helpers—making plans. The chairman of the meeting discussed the position with the newly-appointed secretary of the newly-elected Earthquake Relief Board in low tones. Curious idlers filled the exits and lingered in the aisles.

Mrs. Langham was holding an informal court in the front stalls, receiving suggestions from the members of her respectful committee with regal tolerance, and her strident objections could be heard above the din of many voices.

Patricia Weybourn approached the No. 2 Committee without that deference which the chairwoman considered her due from one so far beneath her socially. Consequently, the chairwoman failed to notice