sea of city was
turning taupe, the dusk of early spring, which is faintly tinged with
violet, invading. Beside the stove, a base-burner with faint fire
showing through its mica, the identity of her figure merged with the fat
upholstery of the chair, except where the faint pink through the mica
lighted up old flesh, Mrs. Miriam Horowitz, full of years and senile
with them, wove with grasses, the ecru of her own skin, wreaths that had
mounted to a great stack in a bedroom cupboard.

A clock, with a little wheeze and burring attached to each chime, rang
six, and upon it, Mrs. Coblenz, breathing from a climb, opened the door.

"Ma, why didn't you rap for Katie to come up and light the gas? You'll
ruin your eyes, dearie."

She found out a match, immediately lighting two jets of a
center-chandelier, turning them down from singing, drawing the shades of
the two front and the southeast windows, stooping over the upholstered
chair to imprint a light kiss.

"A fine day, mamma. There'll be an entry this week. Fifty dollars and
thirteen cents and another call for garden implements. I think I'll lay
in a hardware line after we--we get back. I can use the lower shelf of
the china-table, eh, ma?"

Mrs. Horowitz, whose face, the color of old linen in the yellowing,
emerged rather startling from the still black hair strained back from
it, lay back in her chair, turning her profile against the upholstered
back, half a wreath and a trail of raffia sliding to the floor. It was
as if age had sapped from beneath the skin, so that every curve had
collapsed to bagginess, the cheeks and the underchin sagging with too
much skin. Even the hands were crinkled like too large gloves, a wide,
curiously etched marriage band hanging loosely from the third finger.

Mrs. Coblenz stooped, recovering the wreath.

"Say, mamma, this one is a beauty! That's a new weave, ain't it? Here,
work some more, dearie--till Selene comes with your evening papers."

With her profile still to the chair-back, a tear oozed down the
corrugated surface of Mrs. Horowitz's cheek. Another.

"Now, mamma! Now, mamma!"

"I got a heaviness--here--inside. I got a heaviness--"

Mrs. Coblenz slid down to her knees beside the chair.

"Now, mamma; shame on my little mamma! Is that the way to act when Shila
comes up after a good day? Ain't we got just lots to be thankful for,
the business growing and the bank-book growing, and our Selene on top?
Shame on mamma!"

"I got a