t you?"

"I will after I get everything straightened out to suit me," she
replied.

She was having the struggle of her life to conceal her real feelings.
Never at any time had she undergone such an ordeal as this. Once in the
studio, when she discovered those two letters, she thought she was
suffering--but that, what was that to this? What were her suspicions
concerning Frieda? What were the lonely longings at home, her grieving
and worrying over his illness? Nothing, nothing! Now he was actually
faithless to her. Now she had the evidence. This woman was here. She was
somewhere in the immediate background. After these years of marriage and
close companionship he was deceiving her. It was possible that he had
been with this woman today, yesterday, the day before. The letter was
not dated. Could it be that she was related to Mrs. Hibberdell? Eugene
had said that there was a married daughter, but never that she was
there. If she was there, why should he have moved? He wouldn't have. Was
it the wife of the man he was last living with? No; she was too homely.
Angela had seen her. Eugene would never associate with her. If she could
only know! "Ashes of Roses!" The world went red before her eyes. There
was no use bursting into a storm now, though. If she could only be calm
it would be better. If she only had someone to talk to--if there were a
minister or a bosom friend! She might go to a detective agency. They
might help her. A detective could trace this woman and Eugene. Did she
want to do this? It cost money. They were very poor now. Paugh! Why
should she worry about their poverty, mending her dresses, going without
hats, going without decent shoes, and he wasting his time and being upon
some shameless strumpet! If he had money, he would spend it on her.
Still, he had handed her almost all the money he had brought East with
him intact. How was that?

All the time Eugene was sitting opposite her eating with fair
heartiness. If the trouble about the letter had not come out so
favorably he would have been without appetite, but now he felt at ease.
Angela said she was not hungry and could not eat. She passed him the
bread, the butter, the hashed brown potatoes, the tea, and he ate
cheerfully.

"I think I am going to try and get out of that shop over there," he
volunteered affably.

"Why?" asked Angela mechanically.

"I'm tired of it. The men are not so interesting to me now. I'm tired of
them. I think Mr. Haverford will