It seemed to me afterward that Nature knew of the tragedy and prepared for it. The weather was duller and grayer than it had been on Saturday, not a breath of air stirring and the sky all mottled over with clouds, dark and heavy looking. A full moon was due and as I went to the Exchange I thought of the sweethearts that had dates to walk out in the moonlight and how disappointed they’d be. Things weren’t cheerful at the Exchange either. I found Minnie Trail, the night operator, as white as a ghost, saying she felt as if one of her sick headaches was coming on and if it did would I stay on over time? I knew those headaches—they ran along sometimes till eight or nine. I told her to go right home to bed and I’d hold the fort till she was able to relieve me. We often did turns like that, one for the other. It’s one of the advantages of being in a small country office—no one picks on you for acting human. About ten I had a call from Anne Hennessey. "Have you got anything on for this evening, Molly?" "I have not. This is Longwood, not gay Paree." "Then I’ll come round to Galways, about seven and we’ll go to the Gilt Edge for supper. I want to talk to you." The Gilt Edge Lunch was where I took my meals, a nice clean little joint close to the office. But I didn’t know when I’d get my supper that night, so I called back: "That’s all right, sister, but come to the Exchange. Minnie’s head’s on the blink and I’ll stay on here late. Anything up?" "Yes. I don’t want to talk about it over the wire. There’s been another row here—yesterday morning. It’s horrible; I can’t stand it. I’ll tell you more this evening. So long." I put my elbows on the table and sat forward thinking. If you’d asked me a year ago what I wanted most in the world I’d have said money. But I’d learnt considerable since then. "Money don’t do it," I said to myself. "Look at the Fowlers with their jewels and their millions scrapping till even the housekeeper on a fancy salary with a private bath can’t stand it." And there came up in my mind the memory of the East Side tenement where I was raised. I thought of my poor father, most killed with work, and my mother eking things out, doing housecleaning and never a hard word to each other or to me. The night settled down early, black, dark and very still. At seven Anne Hennessey came in and sat down by the radiator, which was making queer noises with the heat coming up. Supper time’s like dinner—few calls—so I turned round in my chair, ready for a good talk, and asked about the trouble at Mapleshade. "Oh, it was another quarrel yesterday morning at breakfast and with Harper, the butler, hearing every word. He said it was the worst they’d ever had. He’s a self-respecting, high-class servant and was shocked." "Sylvia and the Doctor again?" "Yes, and poor Mrs. Fowler crying behind the coffee pot." "The same old subject?"