“I had no object whatever, except that it pleased me to be interviewed. Understand at once that I shall do exactly as I please in all things. This is not the country for petty household tyrants. I don’t doubt there are many men in this world whom I should be glad to treat with deference and respect if I happened to be married to one of them; but with men like you there is only one course to take. I have asked you to let me live abroad. If you consent to this, it may save you a great deal of trouble in the future; for, I repeat, I shall in all things do exactly as I choose.” “We’ll see whether you will or not,” he roared. “You’ll do as I say, or I’ll lock you up.” “Oh, you will not lock me up. You are way behind your times, Beverly. There is no law in the United States to compel me to obey you.” “I’ll stop your allowance. You’ll never get another cent from me.” “That has nothing whatever to do with it. Now, I ask you for the last time, Will you let me travel?” “No!” he shouted, and he rushed from the room. BOOK IV I Miss Merrien lived in West Forty-fourth Street, near Broadway. Ten days after her visit to Peele Manor Patience rang the door-bell of the house that was to be her new home, one of a long impersonal row. The maid that answered her ring handed her a note from Miss Merrien, and conducted her up to a hall room on the third floor. Patience closed the door, and looked about her with the sensation of the shipwrecked. For a moment she was strongly tempted to flee back to Peele Manor. The room was about eight feet square, and furnished with a folding-bed, which was likewise a bureau, and with a washstand, a table, and two chairs. The furniture and carpet were new, and there were pretty blue and white curtains on the window. Nevertheless the tiny room with its modern contrivances was the symbol of poverty and struggle and an entirely new existence. Her second impulse was to sit down on a chair and cry; but she set her teeth, and read Miss Merrien’s note instead. I am so sorry not to be able to meet you [it read]; but I am a slave, you know. Before I was out of bed this morning I received an assignment to go to a woman’s club meeting at eleven. But I’ll get back in time to go down to the shop with you. Don’t get blue—if you can help it. Remember that every woman feels the same way when she first makes the break for self-support; and that your chances are better than those of most. There’s a little restaurant round the corner—the maid will show you—where you can get your luncheon. _Au revoir._ I’m so glad the sun is out. ANNA CHETWYNDE MERRIEN. P. S. Your clothes are in the closet in the hall. The key is in the washstand drawer.