Hilda slowly turned and watched the spectacle--the swollen, pudgy face, tear-stained, silly, ugly, the tears and kisses falling upon the likeness of HER lover. She suddenly sprang at Lena, her face like a thunder-storm, her black brows straight and her great eyes flashing. "You lie!" she exclaimed. And she tore the photograph from Lena's hands and clasped it to her bosom. Lena shrank in physical fear from this aroused lioness. "He's my husband," she whined. "You haven't got any right to his picture." "You lie!" repeated Hilda, throwing back her head. "It's the truth," said Lena, beginning to cry. "I swear to God it's so. You can ask pa if it ain't. He's Mr. Ganser, the brewer." "Who sent you here to lie about him to me?" "Oh, you needn't put on. You knew he was married. I don't wonder you're mad. He's MY husband, while he's only been making a fool of YOU. You haven't got any shame." Lena's eyes were on the photograph again and her jealousy over-balanced fear. She laughed tauntingly. "Of course you're trying to brazen it out. Give me that picture! He's my husband!" Just then Ganser appeared in the doorway--he did not trust his daughter and had followed her when he thought she was staying too long. At sight of him she began to weep again. "She won't believe me, pa," she said. "Look at her standing there hugging his picture." Ganser scowled at his daughter and addressed himself to Hilda, "It's true, Miss," he said. "The man is a scoundrel. I sent my daughter to warn you." Hilda looked at him haughtily. "I don't know you," she said, "and I do know him. I don't know why you've come here to slander him. But I do know that I'd trust him against the whole world." She glanced from father to daughter. "You haven't done him any harm and you might as well go." Peter eyed her in disgust. "You're as big a fool as my Lena," he said. "Come on, Lena." As Lena was leaving the room, she gave Hilda a malignant glance. "He's MY husband," she said spitefully, "and you're--well, I wouldn't want to say what you are." "Move!" shouted Ganser, pushing her out of the room. His parting shot at Hilda was: "Ask him." Hilda, still holding the photograph, stared at the doorway through which they had disappeared. "You lie!" she repeated, as if they were still there. Then again, a little catch in her voice: "You lie!" And after a longer interval, a third time, with a sob in her throat: "You lie! I know you lie!" She sat at the table and held the photograph before her. She kissed it passionately, gazed long at it, seeing in those bold handsome features all that her heart's love believed of him.