I still continued working for Liu Kanghi, and carried my embroidery to his store in the evening after the little one had been put to sleep. He usually escorted me back; but never asked to be allowed, and I never invited him, to visit me, or even enter the house. I was a young woman, and alone, and what I had suffered from scandal since I had left James Carson had made me wise. It was a cold, wet evening in November when he accosted me once again. I had run over to a delicatessen store at the corner of the block where I lived. As I stepped out, his burly figure loomed up in the gloom before me. I started back with a little cry, but he grasped my arm and held it. “Walk beside me quietly if you do not wish to attract attention,” said he, “and by God, if you do, I will take the kid tonight!” “You dare not!” I answered. “You have no right to her whatever. She is my child and I have supported her for the last two years alone.” “Alone! What will the judges say when I tell them about the Chinaman?” “What will the judges say!” I echoed. “What can they say? Is there any disgrace in working for a Chinese merchant and receiving pay for my labor?” “And walking in the evening with him, and living for over a year in a house for which he paid the rent. Ha! ha! ha! Ha! ha! ha!” His laugh was low and sneering. He had evidently been making enquiries concerning the Liu family, and also watching me for some time. How a woman can loathe and hate the man she has once loved! We were nearing my lodgings. Perhaps the child had awakened and was crying for me. I would not, however, have entered the house, had he not stopped at the door and pushed it open. “Lead the way upstairs!” said he. “I want to see the kid.” “You shall not,” I cried. In my desperation I wrenched myself from his grasp and faced him, blocking the stairs. “If you use violence,” I declared, “the lodgers will come to my assistance. They know me!” He released my arm. “Bah!” said he. “I’ve no use for the kid. It is you I’m after getting reconciled to. Don’t you know, Minnie, that once your husband, always your husband? Since I saw you the other day on the street, I have been more in love with you than ever before. Suppose we forget all and begin over again!” Though the tone of his voice had softened, my fear of him grew greater. I would have fled up the stairs had he not again laid his hand on my arm. “Answer me, girl,” said he. And in spite of my fear, I shook off his hand and answered him: “No husband of mine are you, either legally or morally. And I have no feeling whatever for you other than contempt.” “Ah! So you have sunk!”—his expression was evil—“The oily little Chink has won you!” I was no longer afraid of him.