ll said the only hope _for_ his life
was in constant travel, and so we were always, as you might say, seeking
'fresh fields and pastures new.'"

Then Mrs. Howard's gentle eyes would fill with sympathy. "Poor Mrs.
Pendleton," she would often say to Elsie after one of these distressing
allusions. "How terrible it must have been. Think of seeing some one
you love dying that way, by inches before your eyes. She must have been
very fond of him, too. She always speaks of him with so much feeling."

"Yes," said Elsie with untranslatable intonation. "I wonder what he died
of."

"I don't know," returned her mother regretfully. She had no curiosity,
but she had a refined and well-bred interest in diseases. "I never heard
her mention it and I didn't like to ask."

"Poor Mrs. Howard," Mrs. Pendleton was wont to say with her facile
sympathy. "_So_ hard for her to have to take strangers into her home. I
believe she was left without anything at her husband's death; mighty
hard for a woman at her age."

"How long has her husband been dead?" the other boarder to whom she
spoke would sometimes inquire.

Mrs. Pendleton thought he must have been dead some time, although she
had never heard them say, exactly. "You never hear Elsie speak of him,"
she added, "so I reckon she doesn't remember him right well."

As the winter wore on the tendency to tete-a-tete between Mrs. Pendleton
and Mr. Barlow became more marked. They lingered nightly in the chilly
parlor in the glamour of the red lamp after the other guests had left.
It was discovered that they had twice gone to the theater together. The
art student had met them coming in late. As a topic of conversation
among the boarders the affair was more popular than food complaints. A
subtile atmosphere of understanding enveloped the two. It became so
marked at last that even Mrs. Hilary perceived it--although Elsie always
insisted that Gladys had told her.

One afternoon in the spring, as Mrs. Pendleton was standing on the
door-step preparing to fit the latch-key into the lock, the door opened
and a man came out uproariously, followed by Gladys and Gwendolen, who,
in some inexplicable way, always had the effect of a crowd of children.
The man was tall and not ill-looking. Mrs. Pendleton was attired in
trailing black velveteen, a white feather boa, and a hat covered with
tossing plumes, and the hair underneath was aggressively golden. A
potential smile hovered about her lips and her glance l