She came and sat by him. She put her hand on his shoulder. She regarded him with a look of pity, watching his face. Her feeling for him trembled on her lips. Her eyes watched every movement he made, dwelt on every one of his features. Her fingers trembled. But he would not look at her. He looked sideways at the floor. “When he comes Monday you’ll go with him. You’d better.” His voice was high and harsh. “No I won’t go!” She put her arms around him and began to cry. “I just couldn’t, somehow. What would become of you? How could I when I know you would be alone and nobody to take care of you! Eddie, I feel so sorry for you. I feel so sorry for you. As long as you need me I shall stay. I shall stay. I don’t know what will become of us but I shall stay. I can’t help myself.” He stiffly put up his hands and pulled her arms away from his shoulders. She turned away from him. He, bending over, propping his elbows on his knees and his chin against his fists, stared at the floor. He blinked his eyes and puckered his forehead as if he were trying to think. She stood half turned from him, with her head bent, staring at the floor. She was half ashamed, half pensive. The silence lasted a long time. In the silence the man made a despairing gesture and ejaculated: “Oh, Jesus, what’s the use!” Minutes passed. The woman stood without moving. The man’s lips writhed, his forehead scowled, his eyes stared. “There’s no use in talking about it, is there Eddie?” The woman turned and looked at him with patient weariness. He let his hands fall and dangle between his knees. He shook his head. “Christ, no! What’s the use in talking!” She slowly crossed the room and began putting on her hat. “I’m going to dinner; will you come with me?” She looked at him with a flash of wistfulness in her eyes. He shook his head without saying anything. She put on her overcoat and came over to him, stood by his side and stroked his hair. He stared at the floor. “I’ll be back in about an hour,” she said at last. “Good-by, Eddie.” “Good-by.” He listened to her footsteps in the hall until they died away. He sat thrusting his head forward. The fixed stare of his light-colored eyes defied the lines of his mouth which changed all of the time. At last he stood erect in a crumpled sort of way and walked into the middle of the room. His wrinkled trousers clung to his calves and bagged at the knees. His coat had come unbuttoned and he held it together with one hand like a woman wearing a shawl. He frowned, sticking out his upper lip; and his forehead was broken by many little wrinkles. His forehead was greenish-yellow in the gaslight. He shivered and a whisper rang through the room: “Jesus, it’s cold!”