"One, two, three, four." She untied the sheet and began to count. She could not count fast enough. She crammed her mind with numbers. It was like trying to fill a slack sack to cover something hidden at the bottom. "Shirts. Socks." Not darned. Must darn today. Alice's stockings. Alice is a hard, selfish girl. "Tablecloths. Two--two"--murmuring--"what did I say?" Sacrifice. We must all make sacrifices. The home. "One, two." Her heart smoldered damply in its resignation. She squeezed love out of her heart. Those awful days! Ten years older. People one did not know seemed to seek one accusingly in the street. Furtively, she recalled the birth of her son, remembrance of a strength that had somehow become weariness. Winnie. In the dark doorway Winnie appeared in a muslin dress. She was smiling, a little wan. Her hair was dressed high. She looked plaintive yet determined. "I won't be sick and lie around," she said. "I'm going to help you work." "You're going to do nothing of the sort! You sit right down here and I'll give you your breakfast at once. Did that child wake you up after all?" "No. I was awake." "Well, sit down." "Oh, Mamma Farley, I want to fix my own egg." Winnie, protesting without conviction, allowed herself to be pressed into a chair. "Where did you leave Bobby?" "He's still asleep." "Well, you had no business to get up." Winnie gazed up with sweet greedy eyes. "I don't dare be sick any more. Sick people are horrid. Nobody loves them." Winnie's mouth was patient, quivering, below her lifted eyes. "Yes. Nobody loves them." Mrs. Farley joked laboriously. "You dear!" Winnie reached out and grasped Mrs. Farley's hand. Winnie's eyes, like brown bees, crept with their glance into the vague combative eyes before them. Thinking of yesterday's talk, Winnie's gaze pierced the rough-dried pongee blouse and the sagging black skirt, and saw the small high-shouldered form beneath. Winnie's looks invited to pain as to a bath of wine enjoyed with closed eyes. Mrs. Farley's eyes filled with tears. Ugly and old, before Winnie's pity Mrs. Farley was a woman beaten back by a lover. She put forth a smile that was like a weak and gentle hand caressing an enemy. "Bless you, dear. You sit still while I get your breakfast." She walked out quickly. * * * * * When Laurence came home to dinner Winnie, still dressed in her best, was alone in the living-room. "Hello! You've assumed a new rôle," he said from the doorway. She could see that finding her there made him uncomfortable. She smiled at him with a kind of happy pain. He came forward. He was kind and distant. His lips brushed her hair. She gazed up at him. Her eyes, with crushed back lids and lifted lashes, melted open for his. "I don't want to be sick, Laurie. I've got to go away with Mother. You won't hate me for going away with her? I do need a change so!"