"I cannot even admit, after the first big wrench, of course, that I greatly regretted the little child I left behind. Mothers are always supposed to regret such things I know, but I was not perhaps a normal mother. I suffered, of course, but it was a suffering that I could stand. I could not stand, it seems, the suffering of living with my child's father. "My husband followed us after a few months, not so much for outraged love, I think, as for vindictiveness. We met in a cafe, the three of us. My husband and my lover were both cool-blooded men. My lover was a Quaker who had never yet lifted his hand against any man. The two men started arguing. I came of a hot- blooded family. I had never seen men arguing only about a woman before. More than that I was vain. I was foolish. The biggest portrait painter of the hour had chosen me for what he considered would be his masterpiece. I taunted my lover and my husband with the fact that neither of them loved me. John Stoltor struck my husband. It was the first blow. My husband made a furious attack on him. I tried to intervene. He struck me instead, with such damage as you note. Enraged beyond all sanity at the sight, John Stoltor killed him. "Even then, so overwrought as I was, so bewildered with my mouth all cut and bleeding, I snatched up a mirror to gauge the extent of my ruin. John Stoltor spoke to me--the only harsh words of his life. "Your damage can be repaired in an hour," he said--"but his--mine--_never_!" "It was at that moment they took him away--almost fifteen years--it has been. He did not have to pay the extreme penalty. There were extenuating circumstances the judge thought. His time expires next month. I am waiting for him. I have been waiting for fifteen years. At least he will see that I have subjugated my vanity. I swore that I would never mend my damage until I could help him mend his." With a little gesture of fatigue she turned to Rollins. "This is the story of the broken tooth," she finished, quite abruptly. "Wasn't Allan John even listening?" I thought. With everyone else's eyes fairly glued to Ann Woltor's arresting face, even now, at the supreme climax of her narrative, his eyes seemed focussed far away. Instinctively I followed his gaze. At the top of the stairs, her arms holding tight to the banisters for support, sat the May Girl! In the almost breathless moment that ensued, Rollins swallowed twice only too audibly. "All the same"--insisted Rollins hesitatingly, "all the same--I really do think that----" With a little cry that might have meant almost anything, the Bride jumped up suddenly and threw her arms around Ann Woltor's neck. Even at twilight time everybody was still discussing the problem of the May Girl. Certainly there was plenty of problem to discuss.