Not once, but many times she read the note, taking it in her hands to destroy it; then resolutely she placed it in an envelope, sealed, addressed and stamped it.
"It sounds ungrateful, harsh, unfeeling, but it is better so, much better," she muttered, her lips drawn together coldly. "What difference can my love make to him? It could only bring disgrace and contamination. It could only fill him with loathing if he knew. He will learn to despise me when he reads what I have written, and it is better that he should."
She hesitated no longer, but pinning on her hat, she went to the bureau, and taking from it an old pocketbook, counted the few dollars that remained in it; then she picked up her letter, and with it clasped firmly in her hand, went into the street.
An hour later she returned. She went to the glass and removed her hat.
The beautiful hair that had been one of her crowning glories was gone, and a little boyish head that she could scarcely recognize as her own was reflected there.
There was no satisfaction, only bitterness in the face that looked back at her, and she turned without a murmur.
She had begun her battle with life indeed!
She took up a bundle that she had thrown upon the floor upon her entrance, and took from it a full suit of boy's clothes.
Throwing off her own, she clothed herself in the others, and again looked calmly into the mirror when the task was completed.
The alteration was complete, absolute.