ing to be happy. I tell you,
I'm going to be married. You won't see him! I tell you, you won't tell
him! You've got no business to. I hate you! I've hated you for months!
I hate the sight of your face! I've wanted to go, and now I'm going.
You've got to go, do you hear? You've got to get out--get out!"

Such an exhibition of rage in this usually mild girl was something so
strange and uncanny that it suddenly aroused in him a feeling of
disgust. After all, why should he care? He ought to be glad to get out
and be through with her. As she pushed him again, he rose, and threw
her off, causing her to stagger to a chair. With a gesture of
impatience, he went towards the door.

"What the hell is the use of fussing with a woman?" he exclaimed.

The door slammed noisily behind him. Sinking down on her knees, Laura
started to pack with renewed vigor, crying hysterically:

"I want to be happy! I'm going to be married, I'm going to be happy!"

CHAPTER XX.

Two hours later, Laura, fully dressed for a journey, sat on a trunk,
nervously watching the clock, patiently awaiting John's return. Annie
was still on her knees, struggling with the key of an obstinate
suitcase.

A remarkable transformation had been effected in the apartment. The
entire place had been dismantled, and the elegantly appointed sitting
room was now littered with trunks, grips, umbrellas and the usual
paraphernalia that accompanies a woman when she is making a permanent
departure from her place of living.

All the _bric a brac_ had been removed from the sideboard and tables.
Some of the dresser drawers were half open, and pieces of tissue paper
and ribbons were hanging out. On the armchair was a small alligator
bag, containing toilet articles and a bunch of keys. The writing-desk
had all its contents removed, and was open, showing scraps of torn-up
letters. Lying on the floor, where it had been dropped, was a New York
Central timetable. Between the desk and the bay-window stood a
milliner's box, inside of which was a huge picture hat. Under the desk
were a pair of old slippers, a woman's shabby hat and old ribbons. The
picture frames and basket of flowers had been removed from the pianola,
while the music-stool was on top of the instrument, turned upside down.
Between the legs of this stool was an empty _White Rock_ bottle, with a
tumbler turned over it. The big trunk stood in front of the sofa, all
packed, and it had a swing-tray, in which lay a fa