Mrs. Kennedy was very much surprised to see Angelica spring out of bed the next morning at six o’clock, for she had always liked to lie in bed till the last possible instant. Her mother was still more surprised to hear her say: "I’ll get the breakfast, mommer!" "You needn’t to, deary. I guess you want a little rest." "Rest, nothing! I’m going out to hunt for a job this morning." "But aren’t you ever going back there--to Mrs. Russell’s?" "Not much! I’m going back to the factory again." "Oh, Angie! I’m sorry!" "Why? You made enough row about my going to Mrs. Russell’s." "Only because I didn’t think you could get the place; but now that you did, I’d hate to see you go back. I’d like to see you better yourself." "Oh, for Gawd’s sake! That stuff again! No! Let me tell you, mommer, I’m through with all that. I’m all right the way I am. I’m good enough--as good as any of _them_, anyway." She put on her hat and went out, without a kiss, without a good-by, and Mrs. Kennedy saw no more of her till six o’clock, when she came in, pale and scowling. "What’s the matter with the supper?" she said, roughly. "Why ain’t it ready?" "I just got in myself," said Mrs. Kennedy. "I had a hard day." "Well, you’re not the only one," said Angelica. "What you got?" "I’ll have to run to the corner." "Now, see here!" said her child. "I won’t stand this! I’m not going to wait this way. If you can’t have my supper ready when I get home, I won’t come home--d’ye understand?" This was but the first indication of a change, a profound change, in Angelica. Her mother saw it with anguish. She was rougher, coarser, more cruel. She was brusque with her mother in a way quite different from her old, careless fashion. She was cold, critical, scornful. She had got back her job in the factory where she had worked before, but she didn’t bring her money home now. Her mother was obliged to ask for some when she had nothing left to buy what her child demanded; and then, fiercely reluctant, Angelica would throw down on the table a crumpled dollar bill. Her habits were altogether changed. She spent no more evenings with her mother at home or at the movies. She went about with other factory girls, to dance-halls and cabarets of the cheapest sort. She bought herself daring blouses, thin as a veil, through which her lean brown shoulders shone; she wore short skirts, and had gauzy silk stockings on her long legs; she painted her face with exaggeration. "Angie!" her mother remonstrated. "You don’t look _decent_!" "I don’t want to," she replied. Night after night she stopped out until one o’clock. Then her mother would be awakened by voices in the courtyard--a kiss, very likely, a scuffle, a slap. That was Angelica and her escort, saying good night.