I answered in the affirmative.

“It’s a long story,” she added.  “I must apologise for asking you to come here, where we can’t talk.  But I did it for an important reason.  I can’t make my husband really believe that I mean what I say; and you are my Declaration of Independence!” And she laughed, but a trifle wildly, and looking at her suddenly, I realized that she was keyed almost to the breaking point.

“You poor dear!” I murmured.

“I wanted to show him that I meant what I said.  I wanted him to see us meet.  You see, he’s going home, thinking that with the help of my people he can make me change my mind.”

“But why do you go home?  Why not stay here with me?  There’s an apartment vacant next to mine.”

“And with a baby?”

“There are lots of babies in our tenement,” I said.  But to tell the truth, I had almost forgotten the baby in the excitement of the moment.  “How is she,” I asked.

“Come and see,” said Sylvia; and when I glanced enquiringly at the tall gentleman who was chatting with his friends, she added, “She’s my baby, and I have a right to show her.”

The nurse, a rosy-cheeked English girl in a blue dress and a bonnet with long streamers, stood apart, holding an armful of white silk and lace.  Sylvia turned back the coverings; and again I beheld the vision which had so thrilled me—­the comical little miniature of herself—­her nose, her lips, her golden hair.  But oh, the pitiful little eyes, that did not move!  I looked at my friend, uncertain what I should say; I was startled to see her whole being aglow with mother-pride.  “Isn’t she a dear?” she whispered.  “And, Mary, she’s learning so fast, and growing—­you couldn’t believe it!” Oh, the marvel of mother-love, I thought—­that is blinder than any child it ever bore!

We turned away; and Sylvia said, “I’ll come to you as soon as I’ve got the baby settled.  Our train starts for the South to-night, so I shan’t waste any time.”

“God bless you, dear,” I whispered; and she gave my hand a squeeze, and turned away.  I stood for a few moments watching, and saw her approach her husband, and exchange a few smiling words with him in the presence of their friends.  I, knowing the agony that was in the hearts of that desperate young couple, marvelled anew at the discipline of caste.

9.  She sat in my big arm-chair; and how proud I was of her, and how thrilled by her courage.  Above all, however, I was devoured by curiosity.  “Tell me!” I exclaimed.

“There’s so much,” she said.

“Tell me why you are leaving him.”

“Mary, because I don’t love him.  That’s the one reason.  I have thought it out—­I have thought of little else for the last year.  I have come to see that it is wrong for a woman to live with a man she does not love.  It is the supreme crime a woman can commit.”

“Ah, yes!” I said.  “If you have got that far!”