It was unlike Murray to speak thus brutally, but the woman irritated him. Many were the examples of selfishness that had come to his notice, but this seemed to him a little worse than any of the others. That she had been living apart from her husband might be due to no fault of hers, but she impressed him as being a vain, vindictive, mercenary woman, with no thought above the rather gaudy clothes she wore—just the kind to demand everything and give nothing. Certainly her actions showed that she lacked all the finer sensibilities that one naturally associates with true women. No matter what might lie back of it all, common decency should have prevented her from making such a display of her own small soul at such a time. At least, so Murray thought. “She is the kind of woman who marries a man’s bank account,” he mused, “and considers the inability to supply her with all the money she wants as the first evidence of incompatibility of temper. Some women think they want a husband when they really only want an accommodating banker.” Murray was still musing in this strain when the second woman called. Unlike the first, this woman gave some evidence of grief and mourning: her eyes showed that she had been weeping, and her attire, although not the regulation mourning, was as near to it as a scanty wardrobe would permit on short notice. But she was self-possessed, and spoke with patient resignation. “Necessity,” she explained, “has compelled me to come to see you at this time about Albert Vincent’s life insurance policy.” “Oh!” exclaimed Murray thoughtlessly, “you are the nurse!” “Yes,” she replied quietly, after one startled look, “I am the nurse. I infer that Mrs. Vincent has been here.” “She has just left,” said Murray. “Her attentions,” said the nurse bitterly, “have been confined to an effort to get prompt news of her husband’s death.” Murray knew instinctively that a little drama of life was opening before him, but his duty was clear. “Nevertheless,” he said, “the policy is in her name.” “In her name!” cried the nurse. “Why, he told me—” Then she stopped short. She would not betray his perfidy, even if he had been false to her. “What did he tell you?” asked Murray kindly. “No matter,” answered the nurse. “I—I only wanted enough to defray the—the necessary expenses. That’s why I came. There isn’t a cent—not a cent. Even the little money I had has been used, and there are debts—But she’ll pay, of course.” Murray was deeply distressed. Mrs. Albert Vincent was so bitter—possibly with justification, although he did not like to believe it—that she would do nothing; her feeling was simply one of deep resentment that even death could not allay. But he hesitated to say so. “Let me understand this matter a little better,” he said at last. “I am sincerely anxious to be of any assistance possible, but the circumstances are unusual.”