"You can't give me the room even for one night?"
"We can't really, miss."
"But I can pay in advance," said Elma eagerly.
"I'm ever so sorry, miss; but another lady came just as you left, and she had a box and a handbag, and everything proper, and as she wanted the room very badly and as we had her before, we have let it to her, miss. I am sure I am very sorry not to oblige; but I dare say—There are a great many other apartments down this road, miss."
"Thank you," said Elma; "it does not matter at all."
She spoke with a voice of ice; pride, a remnant of pride, came to her aid. She would not let the woman see how distressed she was.
"Good-evening, miss," said the young landlady. "I'm real sorry not to oblige."
"Oh, it doesn't matter," said Elma; "I dare say I can manage."
She walked down South Street, knowing that the landlady was watching her as she disappeared. She soon came to a corner where four roads met. Where should she go? What could she do? Where was she to have shelter for the night?
It occurred to her that after all there was nothing now left to her but to return to Middleton. She hurried up to the railway station, and asked when the next train would start. A porter, who was standing just inside the station informed her that the last train for Middleton had left five minutes ago.