ame lonesome at times--terribly, and sad. He longed for Carlotta,
longed for a beautiful studio, longed for a luxurious, artistic life. It
seemed that life had wronged him terribly, and yet he could do nothing
about it. He had no money-making capacity.

About this time the construction of a rather pretentious machine shop,
two hundred by two hundred feet and four storeys high was assigned to
Deegan, largely because of the efficiency which Eugene contributed to
Deegan's work. Eugene handled his reports and accounts with rapidity and
precision, and this so soothed the division management that they had an
opportunity to see Deegan's real worth. The latter was beside himself
with excitement, anticipating great credit and distinction for the work
he was now to be permitted to do.

"'Tis the foine time we'll have, Eugene, me bye," he exclaimed, "puttin'
up that buildin'. 'Tis no culvert we'll be afther buildin' now. Nor no
coal bin. Wait till the masons come. Then ye'll see somethin'."

Eugene was pleased that their work was progressing so successfully, but
of course there was no future in it for him. He was lonely and
disheartened.

Besides, Angela was complaining, and rightfully enough, that they were
leading a difficult life--and to what end, so far as she was concerned?
He might recover his health and his art (by reason of his dramatic
shake-up and changes he appeared to be doing so), but what would that
avail her? He did not love her. If he became prosperous again it might
be to forsake her, and at best he could only give her money and position
if he ever attained these, and how would that help? It was love that she
wanted--his love. And she did not have that, or only a mere shadow of
it. He had made up his mind after this last fatal argument that he would
not pretend to anything he did not feel in regard to her, and this made
it even harder. She did believe that he sympathized with her in his way,
but it was an intellectual sympathy and had very little to do with the
heart. He was sorry for her. Sorry! Sorry! How she hated the thought of
that! If he could not do any better than that, what was there in all the
years to come but misery?

A curious fact to be noted about this period was that suspicion had so
keyed up Angela's perceptions that she could almost tell, and that
without knowing, when Eugene was with Carlotta or had been. There was
something about his manner when he came in of an evening, to say nothing
of