zed next day in the
conciliatory language of a tiny wrist-watch.

But a break came, as she knew and feared it must.

One evening during one of these attacks, when for two days Carrie had
not appeared at the dinner table, Alma, entering when the meal was
almost over, seated herself rather exhaustedly at her mother's place
opposite her stepfather.

He had reached the stage when that little unconscious usurpation in
itself could annoy him.

"How's your mother?" he asked, dourly for him.

"She's asleep."

"Funny. This is the third attack this month and each time it lasts
longer. Confound that neuralgia."

"She's easier now."

He pushed back his plate.

"Then I'll go in and sit with her while she sleeps."

She who was so fastidiously dainty of manner, half rose, spilling her
soup.

"No," she said, "you mustn't! Not now!" And sat down again hurriedly,
wanting not to appear perturbed.

A curious thing happened then to Louis. His lower lip came pursing out
like a little shelf and a hitherto unsuspected look of pigginess
fattened over his rather plump face.

"You quit butting into me and my wife's affairs, you, or get the hell
out of here," he said, without changing his voice or his manner.

She placed her hand to the almost unbearable flutter of her heart.

"Louis! You mustn't talk like that to--me!"

"Don't make me say something I'll regret. You! Only take this tip, you!
There's one of two things you better do. Quit trying to come between me
and her or--get out."

"I--she's sick."

"Naw, she ain't. Not as sick as you make out. You're trying, God knows
why, to keep us apart. I've watched you. I know your sneaking kind.
Still water runs deep. You've never missed a chance since we're married
to keep us apart. Shame!"

"I--she--"

"Now mark my word, if it wasn't to spare her, I'd have invited you out
long ago. Haven't you got any pride?"

"I have. I have," she almost moaned and could have crumpled up there and
swooned in her humiliation.

"You're not a regular girl. You're a she-devil. That's what you are!
Trying to come between your mother and me. Ain't you ashamed? What is it
you want?"

"Louis--I don't--"

"First you turn down a fine fellow like Leo Friedlander, so he don't
come to the house any more and then you take out on us whatever is
eating you, by trying to come between me and the finest woman that ever
lived. Shame. Shame."

"Louis," she said. "Louis," wringing her hands in a dry wash