The woman half faced him now; and her thoughts dwelt on the same period as his. He had done his best to spoil Charley for her, this dirty Tom “Grits.” He’d egged him on to drink, and fight, and gamble ... and chase women. Used to come up to their house and sit around in the way; then tease Charley off into some devilment, when he wanted to stay home. Too lazy, too backward, to open his lips to a girl; he’d kept her fooling around, until she had really wanted--well, not him ... something.... She’d shown him his place at last; out of the door. A squint-faced loafer, a hanger-on around the sheriff’s office.... Fine friend for her husband! Charley at least would work regular. And now “Grits” sat there like a whipped dog, as he always did when he saw her. Slinking cur of a man! Something urged him to pretend sympathy for her; she had lost her husband. “He didn’t suffer?” “No. He was well and up Sunday; and now--and now--” She pressed her forehead and cheeks fiercely against her cupped hands; her shoulders trembled rhythmically. “There, there.” He tried awkwardly to feign tenderness. Like as not her tongue had whipped the man to death. To death.... His thoughts opened unwillingly to Charley now--to Charley dead. Queer thing, lying so close--couldn’t say a thing, do a thing!... It wasn’t the Charley he had known; not the same at all. Preachers must be right; the man he had known had gone--somewhere. That thing--cold, uncanny, staring through closed eyelids, with hair and finger-nails still alive, growing horribly--this foul thing was all that was left. Served Louella right! This was what she had made of Charley. His fancy began to weave thoughts of the dead thing and the woman. She was wrapped in introspection now; his eye measured her from hair to barked black oxfords. One by one his mind stripped off the garments of mourning, and what lay beneath the black shell: a restless fancy cast her in intimate scenes with the man who was gone. Morbidly the thoughts persisted, were embroidered. What if the chill, dead, bristle-faced thing should hold her as husband holds wife! A fit punishment.... Something deep within him lingered on the details. The after-midnight coolness slunk between them. She shivered, wondering if he had felt it. He was her guest, after all. “I’ll get your coat,” she whispered, leaning close. She got it, and a wrap to throw around her own shoulders. It seemed somehow warmer when their chairs were close, she thought. Of course, Tom Rice couldn’t help being what he was born to be. And she had thought a lot of him before she knew Charley. If he’d only spoken!... And--to come here tonight, when he hadn’t been around for five years ... of course, just because her dead man had wished it....