After supper--the Gansers still had supper in the evening, their
fashionable progress in that direction having reached only the stage at
which dinner is called luncheon--he put Lena into the carriage and they
drove to Avenue A. On the way he told her exactly what to say and do.
He stayed in the carriage. "Be quick," he said, "and no foolishness!"

Lena, swelling and rustling with finery and homelier than before her
troubles, little though they disturbed her, marched into the shop and
up to the end counter, where Hilda was standing.

"You are Miss Hilda Brauner?" she said. "I want to see you alone."

Hilda looked her surprise but showed Lena into the living-room, which
happened to be vacant. Lena could not begin, so intent was she upon
examining her rival. "How plain she's dressed," she thought, "and how
thin and black she is!" But it was in vain; she could not deceive her
rising jealousy. It made her forget her father's instructions, forget
that she was supposed to hate Feuerstein and was getting rid of him.

"I am Mrs. Carl Feuerstein," she cried, her face red and her voice
shrill with anger and excitement. "And I want you to stop flirting
with my husband!"

Hilda stood petrified. Lena caught sight of a photograph on the
mantelpiece behind Hilda. She gave a scream of fury and darted for it.
"How dare you!" she shrieked. "You impudent THING!" She snatched the
frame, tore it away from the photograph and flung it upon the floor. As
she gazed at that hair like a halo of light, at those romantic features
and upturned eyes, she fell to crying and kissing them.

Hilda slowly turned and watched the spectacle--the swollen, pudgy face,
tear-stained, silly, ugly, the tears and kisses falling upon the
likeness of HER lover. She suddenly sprang at Lena, her face like a
thunder-storm, her black brows straight and her great eyes flashing.
"You lie!" she exclaimed. And she tore the photograph from Lena's
hands and clasped it to her bosom.

Lena shrank in physical fear from this aroused lioness. "He's my
husband," she whined. "You haven't got any right to his picture."

"You lie!" repeated Hilda, throwing back her head.

"It's the truth," said Lena, beginning to cry. "I swear to God it's
so. You can ask pa if it ain't. He's Mr. Ganser, the brewer."

"Who sent you here to lie about him to me?"

"Oh, you needn't put on. You knew he was married. I don't wonder
you're mad. He's MY husband, while he's onl