And the only way I can do so is to appeal to Eddie, to tell him the whole story, and to throw ourselves on his mercy. It will be a bitter blow to him, and it is a terrible penance for me to tell him; but, for your sake, I must bear the pain of telling and he of hearing. He will help us, Angelica. He is a generous and noble soul. He has never yet failed me. She remained stupefied. "D’ye mean Eddie doesn’t know?" she cried, addressing an invisible Vincent. It was such an amazing idea to her. She had always imagined Eddie as possessed of all the details. She had often thought of him, sitting in his trench in the moonlight, reflecting with grief and bitterness over her infamy. She had looked upon him as utterly lost, beyond her reach. She had believed, as a matter of course, that all those people knew, and despised and hated her--Polly, Mrs. Russell, all the servants. "Why, mommer!" she cried. "He----” "Whatever is it, child?" asked Mrs. Kennedy, surprised at the strange look on her daughter’s face. Angelica had risen slowly to her feet, and was staring at her mother. A new, a terrible hope was dawning upon her. "Quick, mommer!" she cried suddenly. "I got to stop him!" She rushed into the bedroom, put on a hat over her disordered hair, pinned together the open bosom of her blouse, and ran down the hall. "Angie! Angie!" cried her mother. "Where are you going?" The door banged. She was gone. Mrs. Kennedy laid the baby on the bed. "Cry, if you must," she said. "I can’t hold you any more till I’ve had a cup of tea." IV Angelica had gone running up the street to a drug-store on Sixth Avenue, where she knew there was a telephone booth. It was a place of doubtful repute. There was always a group there of young Italian-Americans, flashily dressed youths of immense assurance, who were interested in every woman that entered the store; but they didn’t care for Angelica in her slatternly dress, with her fierce and haggard face. One of them made a coarse jest about her, which she answered with an oath; then she went into the booth and pulled the door to behind her. Her heart was beating frantically; she was scarcely able to speak, her hoarse voice came out with an unfamiliar sound. "I want to speak to Mr. Vincent!" she said. "Who is it?" "Call him quick! It’s a message from his brother." A silly ruse, but she was capable of nothing better. Then, after a long pause, she heard his voice. "What is it?" "It’s me--Angelica. Vincent, don’t you _dare_ to write to Eddie! Don’t you dare ever to let him know!" "My dear child, I’ve already done so. I’ve just put the letter in the box, not ten minutes ago." "No!" she cried. "No! You must get it back!" He laughed. "When once a letter is posted----”