"Mother!--where on earth do you suppose father _goes_! His lecture was over at half-past three. If only, _only_, he'd try to get some patients! But he's not even in for his office hour half the time!" "I'm sure I do not know," replied her mother, generally, and picked up her coverless magazine. Angela fidgeted at the window, drumming on the dripping pane. Presently she said:-- "Oh, mother! Why _couldn't_ you or father have some relations that would help us! We're the only family I ever heard of that hasn't a _single_ rich relation!" Her mother, not looking up, mentioned complainingly the branch of her family to which she always referred in such discussions. "Much good the Ashburtons have done us!" said Angela truly, and also as usual. "When they think we're not good enough to speak to. I have nobody to help me but myself." It was as if the girl was herself struck with the truth of her own observation. Her gaze out the window became thoughtful, and then intent. Suddenly, without more speech, she left the window and the room. In the hall there came an interruption. An untutored voice bawled up, without the slightest preamble:-- "_Sugar hasn't came!_" "All right," responded the young housekeeper, after a short annoyed pause. And then, returning to her own room, she thought: "If I telephone from Mrs. Doremus's now, it'll be too late for supper. I'll have to ask Wallie--just to step around ..." Angela shut the door behind her and lighted a flaring gasjet. Then she stood still, knitting her brows slightly, glancing about. She wanted writing-paper, and didn't know where to put her hands on any, exactly. In the sharp light of the gas it was now seen that Angela's little bedroom lacked Beauty, of the purely objective sort: Beauty of that kind depending, as all know, on fathers being good providers, which was not the case here, alas. Everything in Angela's room was cheap when it was new, and everything was far from new now. A very large old walnut wardrobe occupied all one side of the room, awkwardly substituting for a clothes-closet. The bed was of yellow imitation-oak, and sagged considerably in the middle from worn-out springs. The bureau was to match; its somewhat wavy mirror was the nearest Angela came to a dressing-table; its three drawers would never quite shut, and frequently wouldn't quite open. There were also two chairs in the bedroom, one straight, one a re-seated rocker, and a small walnut work-table, which trembled dangerously if you brushed against it.