lsive movement of the face. Edith could see she was a person who
wept easily.

"I won't tell you any more."

The declaration was made in a tone of childish fretfulness.

Edith grew soothing. "I'm sorry if I've hurt your feelings. Don't mind
speaking, because it doesn't make any difference to me--now."

The woman stared, the tears wet on her cheeks. "Don't you--love him?"

Edith was ready with her answer. It came firmly: "No."

"Didn't you--_ever_?"

This time Edith considered, answering more slowly. "I don't know. If I
ever did--the thing is so dead--that I don't understand how it could
ever have been alive."

The woman dried her eyes. "I don't see how you can help it."

"_You_ can't help it, can you?" Edith smiled, with a sense of her own
superiority. "I suppose that's the reason you come here. I've seen you
before."

"Have you?"

"Yes; several times. And that _is_ the reason, isn't it?--because you
can't help loving him."

The woman's tears began to flow again. "It's because I don't know what
else to do. When he doesn't come any more--"

"Oh, so he doesn't come."

"Not unless I make him. When he sees me here--"

"Well, what then?"

"He gets angry. He comes to tell me that if I do it again--"

"I see. But he _comes_. It brings him. That's the main thing, isn't it?
Well, now that you've told me so much, I'll--I'll try to--to send him."
She was struck with a new thought. "If you were to come in now--you
could--you could wait for him."

The frightened look returned. "Oh, but he'd kill me!"

"Oh no, he wouldn't." She smiled again, with a sense of her
superiority. "He wouldn't kill you when he knew I didn't care."

"But _don't_ you care?"

She shook her head. "No. And I shall never care again. He can do what he
likes. He's free--and so are you. I'd rather he went to you. Eleven
years, did you say? Why, he was your husband long before he was mine."

"Oh no; he was never my husband. We agreed from the first--"

"He wasn't your husband according to the strict letter of the contract;
but I don't care anything about that. It's what _I_ call being your
husband. I'd rather you took him back.... Oh, my God! There he is."

He was standing on the other side of the street watching them. How long
he had been there neither of them knew. Engrossed in the subject between
them, and screened by their sunshades, they hadn't noticed him come
round the corner from Madison Avenue on his way home. He stood leaning