"Every time what I think of that long envelope laying there on that desk with its lease waiting to be signed to-morrow, I--I could squeeze my eyes shut so tight and wish I didn't never have to open them again on this--this house and this drudgery. If you marry wrong, baby, I'm caught. Caught in this house like a rat in a trap." "No, no, mommy. Leo, he--his uncle--" "Don't make me sign that new lease, Ruby. Shulif hounds me every day now. Any day I expect he says is my last. Don't make me saddle another five years with the house. He's only a boy, baby, and years it will take, and--I'm tired, baby. Tired! Tired!" She lay back with her face suddenly held in rigid lines and her neck ribbed with cords. At sight of her so prostrate there, Ruby Kaufman grasped the cold face in her ardent young hands, pressing her lips to the streaming eyes. "Mommy, I didn't mean it. I didn't! I--We're just kids, flirting a little, Leo and me. I didn't mean it, mommy!" "You didn't mean it, Ruby, did you? Tell mama you didn't." "I didn't, ma. Cross my heart. It's only I--I kinda had him in my head. That's all, dearie. That's all!" "He can't provide, baby." "'Shh-h-h, ma! Try to get calm, and maybe then--then things can come like you want 'em. 'Shh-h-h, dearie! I didn't mean it. 'Course Leo's only a kid. I--We--Mommy dear, don't. You're killing me. I didn't mean it. I didn't." "Sure, baby? Sure?" "Sure." "Mama's girl," sobbed Mrs. Kaufman, scooping the small form to her bosom and relaxing. "Mama's own girl that minds." They fell quiet, cheek to cheek, staring ahead into the gaslit quiet, the clock ticking into it. The tears had dried on Mrs. Kaufman's cheeks, only her throat continuing to throb and her hand at regular intervals patting the young shoulder pressed to her. It was as if her heart lay suddenly very still in her breast. "Mama's own girl that minds." "It--it's late, ma. Let me pull down the bed." "You ain't mad at mama, baby? It's for your own good as much as mine. It is unnatural a mother should want to see her--" "No, no, mama. Move, dearie. Let me pull down the bed. There you are. Now!" With a wrench Mrs. Kaufman threw off her recurring inclination to tears, moving casually through the processes of their retirement. "To-morrow, baby, I tighten the buttons on them new spats. How pretty they look." "Yes, dearie." "I told Mrs. Katz to-day right out her Irving can't bring any more his bicycle through my front hall. Wasn't I right?" "Of course you were, ma." "Miss Flora looked right nice in that pink waist to-night--not? Four-eighty-nine only, at Gimp's sale." "She's too fat for pink." "You get in bed first, baby, and let mama turn out the lights." "No, no, mama; you." In her white slip of a nightdress, her coronet braids unwound and falling down each shoulder, even her slightness had waned. She was like Juliet who at fourteen had eyes of maid and martyr. They crept into bed, grateful for darkness.