was getting well."

"Yes, I have, and I'll keep on till I die!"

"A fine wife for a man," he said. "Beggin' a man to be a dirty dog!"

"No! To be a MAN--and I'll keep on till I die!"

Adams again fell back upon his last solace: he walked, half staggering,
up and down the room, swearing in a rhythmic repetition.

His wife had repetitions of her own, and she kept at them in a voice
that rose to a higher and higher pitch, like the sound of an old
well-pump. "Till I die! Till I die! Till I DIE!"

She ended in a scream; and Alice, coming up the stairs, thanked heaven
that Russell had gone. She ran to her father's door and went in.

Adams looked at her, and gesticulated shakily at the convulsive figure
on the floor. "Can you get her out of here?"

Alice helped Mrs. Adams to her feet; and the stricken woman threw her
arms passionately about her daughter.

"Get her out!" Adams said, harshly; then cried, "Wait!"

Alice, moving toward the door, halted, and looked at him blankly, over
her mother's shoulder. "What is it, papa?"

He stretched out his arm and pointed at her. "She says--she says you
have a mean life, Alice."

"No, papa."

Mrs. Adams turned in her daughter's arms. "Do you hear her lie? Couldn't
you be as brave as she is, Virgil?"

"Are you lying, Alice?" he asked. "Do you have a mean time?"

"No, papa."

He came toward her. "Look at me!" he said. "Things like this dance
now--is that so hard to bear?"

Alice tried to say, "No, papa," again, but she couldn't. Suddenly and in
spite of herself she began to cry.

"Do you hear her?" his wife sobbed. "Now do you----"

He waved at them fiercely. "Get out of here!" he said. "Both of you! Get
out of here!"

As they went, he dropped in his chair and bent far forward, so that his
haggard face was concealed from them. Then, as Alice closed the door, he
began to rub his knees again, muttering, "Oh, my, my! OH, my, my!"

CHAPTER XIV

There shone a jovial sun overhead on the appointed "day after
to-morrow"; a day not cool yet of a temperature friendly to walkers; and
the air, powdered with sunshine, had so much life in it that it seemed
to sparkle. To Arthur Russell this was a day like a gay companion who
pleased him well; but the gay companion at his side pleased him even
better. She looked her prettiest, chattered her wittiest, smiled her
wistfulest, and delighted him with all together.

"You look so happy it's easy to see your father's taken a good