“Why, he’ll let me know as soon as he’s in town,” Emeline said vaguely; “he’ll come home.”

“Come home, eh?” said the lawyer, with a shrewd look.  “He knows your intentions, of course?”

“He ought to!” said Emeline with spirit, and she began again:  “I don’t think there’s a person in the world could say that I’m not a good wife, Mr. Knowles!  I never so much as looked at another man—­ I swear to God I never did!  And there’s no other man in the case.  If I can have my dolling little girl, and just live quiet, with a few friends near me, that’s all I ask!  If Mr. Page had his way, I’d never put foot out of doors; but mind you, he’d be off with the boys every night.  And that means drink, you know—­”

“Well, well,” the young lawyer said soothingly, “I guess you’ve been treated pretty mean, all right.”

Emeline went home to find—­somewhat to her embarrassment—­that George had come in, and was in his happiest mood, and playing with Julia.  Julia had somehow lost her babyish beauty now; she was thin and lanky, four teeth were missing, and even her glorious mop of hair seemed what her mother called “slinky.”

“I landed the Fox order right over Colton’s head!” said George.

Emeline said:  “I wish to the Lord you’d quit opening that window, leaving the wind blow through here like a cave!”

“Well, the place smelled like a Jap’s room!” George retorted, instantly aggressive.

“We’re going to the Park!” Julia chanted.

“How d’ye mean you’re going to the Park?” Emeline asked, as she slammed down the offending window.

“Well, I thought maybe I’d take her there; kinder fun walking round and seeing things, what?” George submitted.

Emeline shrugged.  “I don’t care what you do!”

She sat down before a dresser with a triple mirror, which had lately been added to the bedroom furniture, and began to ruffle the coarse puffs of her black hair with slim, ringed fingers.

“You’ve got something better to do, of course!” George said.

“Don’t go to a matinee, Mother!” said Julia, coming to lean coaxingly against her mother’s arm.  Emeline looked down at the pale, intelligent little face, and gave the child a sudden kiss.

“Mama isn’t going to a matinee, doll baby.  But papa ain’t as crazy for her to go to the Park as you are!” she said, with an oblique and challenging glance at George.

“Oh, come on!” George urged impatiently.  “Only don’t wear that rotten hat,” he added.  “It don’t look like a respectable woman!”

Emeline’s expression did not change, but fury seethed within her.

“Don’t wait for me,” she said levelly.  “I’m not going.”

“Well, put the kid’s hat on then,” George suggested, settling his own with some care at the mantel mirror.

“Get your hand-embroidered dress out of your drawer, Julia,” said her mother, “and the hat Aunt Maybelle gave you!”