"What's the matter?" Alice threw the sheet back and stood up on the floor. Half seen, she upreared enormously like a wraith. "Your father isn't home yet," Mrs. Farley said. "Well, what of it?" "I know where he is." Mrs. Farley's voice sounded cracked. "Then you ought not to worry." "He's with that woman." Mrs. Farley's words clacked like castanets in trembling hands; then fell soundless. Alice pitied her mother and grew hard. "Well, you knew he was going to see her." There was a silence. Then Mrs. Farley said, "I know I can't expect any sympathy from you. My own child connives with her father to get rid of me." "I'm sorry things are like this, Mamma, but I won't be blamed for them. If I were you I wouldn't allow myself to be placed in this kind of a position." "Oh, I know you! I know you!" Mrs. Farley's voice broke as with age and vindictiveness. She turned and went out, stumbling over the edge of the matting and catching the door lintel as she passed into the light. Alice stood quietly a moment resisting the contagion of her mother's panic. Then, conquering stubbornness, she followed. Mrs. Farley was in the back of the hall leaning against the stair rail. She was in her nightdress that fell, like hanging water, white through the gloom. She was making a slow way toward the kitchen. "What are you trying to do, Mamma?" Alice called. Her body, uncorseted, was heavy. She walked quickly after her mother. She knew what her mother was trying to do. Mrs. Farley dallied a little, but she would not answer. Her hands were hid, carrying something. Alice came up behind. She caught her mother quickly from the back. "Give me that pistol, do you hear me!" "No, no! I won't!" The scrawny body bent forward and doubled itself against Alice's reaching hand. "Give it here." Alice was quiet and sure with excitement. Her big breast heaved under her loose nightgown. Her hair was tumbled about and her coarse face was red with effort. "Let me! Then you and your father can do what you please!" "Rubbish. Let it go, I say." Alice's fingers were on the gun. Its hardness and coldness reassured her of she knew not what. She wanted to hurt me, Alice thought. What other reason did she have for coming to me about it? "Oh, oh! You hurt my wrist!" Alice clutched her mother's fingers and was cruel to them. The strong fingers pressed and twisted, still stronger. "Give me that gun!" It dropped with a dull clatter on the bare floor. Mrs. Farley's power over others was her power to hurt herself. Now it was gone. She was feeble. "You try to get your father to leave me. You want to see me left here without anything and you won't let me kill myself," she hiccoughed, beginning to cry. The gaslight on the wall was turned low. Alice reached for the screw and sent the flame up so that a yellow flood swept the shadows away.