She took out a shabby little purse, counted her money, put some back, and laid the rest on the tub tops. Such a pitiful sum! It hurt her mother. "It’s all yours," she said. "You’ve worked for it. Do as you please. If you really want to go---- I’m sure I hope you’ll get the place." After a moment she added: "I hope you know, Angie, that I want you to have the best--the very best there is. I think you deserve it. Only, deary, I don’t want you to be disappointed; and I don’t see how you can help being. I want you to know, deary, that I’m----” She couldn’t think of a word. She stood anxiously frowning, looking at the ground for a minute. "I’m always--on your side," she ended. Angelica sprang up from the table and seized her mother in a fierce embrace. "_Mamma mia!_" she whispered, as her father had taught her, long ago. Her mother was curiously thrilled and touched. She looked up with brimming eyes at the dark and foreign face bending above her. "What’s that he used to say--_feeliar_, or something?" she murmured, embarrassed. "You’re a good girl, Angelica. I hope you’ll be lucky!" CHAPTER TWO I In spite of an air of complete self-assurance, Angelica was very nervous the next morning. She lingered over her breakfast with a sort of languor well-known to her mother, for wasn’t that, hadn’t that always been, her air of desperation and defiance? She saw that Angelica had no idea of changing her mind, and also that, upon thinking it over, she had realized to some extent how daring was her project, and was frightened. Mrs. Kennedy had to put in a day washing for one of the tenants, and was in a hurry. She stooped over the table to print on a piece of wrapping-paper the usual note to be pinned on her door: JANITRESS WILL BE FOUND IN APT. 12 Then, straightening up, she looked anxiously at her child. "Well, deary! If you’ve made up your mind--good luck to you!" Angelica smiled faintly. When the door had closed after her mother, she rose herself and went into the black little bedroom, where a small jet of gas showed her a shadowy face in a broken mirror. She put on her hat, very carefully, and her jacket, but lingered still; until ringing across the cement floor of the cellar came a heavy and familiar step--Oscar, the furnace man, going out for his morning beer. That meant nine o’clock; she _had_ to go! Once in the street, her self-confidence returned. She was always best in a crowd, in any position where she had to fight her way. The glances that followed her warmed her heart, assured her of her alluring and devilish charm. She liked it all--liked to turn with terrible scorn upon any one who ventured to jostle her, liked to disconcert with a long, insolent stare any man who might presume to look too long at her.