Lucy sat down again and buried her face in her arms on the table. * * * * * As Lucy had not taken any dinner to her the previous evening, Mrs. Merwent appeared at the breakfast table at an unwonted hour, shortly after John’s departure for the office. She was almost without rouge and wore the négligée of the previous Sunday, a creation of grey and rose. “I’m not hungry,” she explained as she seated herself and began to eat. “Every bite I take chokes me. But I am so empty and weak that I must take some nourishment or I’ll be sick.” Lucy sat down wearily, saying nothing. “I never saw such coarseness before in my whole life,” resumed Nannie. “The idea of that woman calling you up to go and see your father and that creature while I was actually in your house! I suppose that is fine feeling here in the North.” Katy had gone to market, so it was Lucy who went into the kitchen when Nannie was ready for hot waffles. “I suppose you saw her,” continued Mrs. Merwent, when Lucy returned. “Have another cup of coffee, Mother.” “I think I had better. I feel faint and dizzy.” Lucy poured the coffee and pushed the bacon and eggs nearer her mother’s plate. “You saw her, didn’t you?” repeated Nannie, helping herself to waffles and taking more bacon and eggs. “Saw whom?” asked Lucy. “You know whom I mean, Lucy. There’s no use trying to get out of it.” “I’m not trying to get out of anything, Mother. I saw Miss Storms and Papa and--Papa’s wife.” Lucy hesitated a little over the last two words. “I hope she dresses better than she used to in Russellville,” remarked Nannie. Lucy was silent. “Did she say anything about me?” Nannie took another waffle. “No, Mother. No one mentioned you.” “I see. Nobody even thought of me. Did that woman seem very fond of your father?” “Who? Miss Storms?” interrogated Lucy, in a lame attempt at pleasantry. “You know whom I mean, Lucy. It’s not funny to me if it _is_ to you.” “Let’s not discuss Papa’s wife.” Lucy showed that she anticipated an outburst. “Why not?” insisted Nannie virtuously. “Because----” Lucy looked out the window. “Because what?” demanded her mother. “Why, don’t you think it’s in--well, bad taste, Mother?” The explosion came. “You’re a nice one to try to teach me good taste and propriety!” Nannie’s voice was suddenly raised to its highest pitch. “I may be divorced but I was never talked about while I was living with your father.” “I don’t know what you mean.” Lucy regarded her mother steadily. “No, of course you don’t!” taunted Nannie. “Well, other people do. A married woman ought to be satisfied with the friendship of her husband.” “If you are referring to Jim Sprague,” Lucy’s tone was menacing, “my friendship for him or anybody else is none of your business.” She had risen. Her breast heaved and her nostrils widened as she gazed at her mother.