She had always been pretty, and she was that now, though her face had lines made by scowling. Her neck and shoulders and breast were almost uncovered, because her waist was so thin and so low-cut. Her little arms were bare from above the elbow, and her little features looked still smaller under a bright irregular turban with a feather like a long sword. "Luke asked me to find you," I said. "He said he didn't have the money to come himself." "Poor Luke," said Lena unexpectedly. "He's got the worst of it. But I can't help it." "You've just come up for a little while, though, haven't you?" I asked her. "And then you're going back?" She shrugged, and all the bones and cords of her neck and chest stood out. The shadow of her feather kept running over her face, like a knife blade. "What's the use of your talking like the preacher?" she said. "You got out yourself." "Yes," I said, "but--" "You knew before and I didn't know till after," she added. "That's all. I couldn't stand it, either." I sat still, wondering what to say. "We moved in there with his mother and father," Lena said. "His father was good to me; but he was sick and just one more to take care of. His mother--well, I know it was hard for her, but she was bound I should do everything her way. She was a grand good housekeeper--and I ain't. I hate it. She got the rheumatism and sat in her chair all day and told me how. I tell you I couldn't stand it--" Her voice got shrill, and I thought she was going to cry. But she just threw back her head and looked at me. "And now in seven months," she said, "something else. That was the last straw. I says now I'd never get out. I've come up here for the last good time I may ever have. If Luke won't take me back, he needn't. I don't care what becomes of me anyway." "Oh, Lena," I said. "Don't you go giving yourself airs," she said. "You got away. We've heard about your school and your smartness. But supposin' you hadn't. Do you think you'd have stayed in Luke's mother's kitchen slavin'?" "No, Lena," I said. "I honestly don't think I would." The gas without any burner flickered over the big-figured carpets and chairs and table cover, the mussy paper flowers and the rusty gas stove and the crayon portraits. I almost felt as if I were there in Lena's place. "I s'pose, though, you're goin' to tell me to go back," she said. "Well, best spare your breath." It came to me what I had to do, just as simply as things almost always come. "I'm not going to tell you any such thing," I said. "I wondered if you wouldn't come down and stay with Mrs. Bingy and me while you're here. We've got an extra cot." She tossed her head. "You're laughing at me," she said. "No," I said, "I want you. So would Mrs. Bingy." When she understood, something seemed to go out of her. She shrank down in the chair, and that look of hers went away from her.