Mrs. Farley went about her housework with renewed determination. She would speak to no one but Laurence. At the table she served them all, but if there was any general talk she did not hear it. Mr. Farley grew into the habit of giving her furtive looks. He forgot to eat. He talked mostly to Bobby and May. The weather was quite mild, but Mrs. Farley took to wearing an old red cashmere shawl and pulling it tight about her throat. When her husband or her daughter sought her averted gaze she wrapped herself tighter and shivered ostentatiously. Bobby was too young to note changes which did not directly affect his interest, but May, with her shining eyes of a little stuffed goat, ruminated in her own way on what was making her grandmother eccentric. The little girl's pale lips parted loosely in wonder, as, ignoring her food, she watched her grandmother's oblivious face bent over the coffee. Mrs. Farley was conscious of this all-absorbing gaze which had in it neither approval nor condemnation. She felt at a disadvantage before the child, and, when May asked for anything, found it difficult not to push her away with expressions of violence. Laurence saw that something was wrong again between his parents. Alice with her damned interference, he told himself. When his mother spoke to him his voice was gentle. But he could not endure other people's pain. He kept away from her as much as possible. In this web of silence between her father and mother Alice felt herself caught by threads of iron. She could not move. One morning when she and her mother were alone Alice said, "I told Papa that you were willing for him to arrange a divorce." Mrs. Farley's face, in its deliberated vagueness, quivered like a gray jelly, but she kept her eyes away and her body did not quicken to more expressive life. "Yes. I supposed you did. I suppose by now the two of you have fixed it up." "You'll have to talk sensibly about it or he can't do it." Mrs. Farley gave Alice one weak terrible look. Alice could not bear the look. To get away from it and from a desire to do something violent she walked into the living-room. * * * * * The children were playing in the back yard when Bobby fell down and hurt himself. May sat flat on the grass before the sandpile, but when she saw that Bobby was hurt she struggled to her feet on her thin legs like a weak young colt, and went to help him. "You're full of dirt." She squatted before him brushing his clothes, her stiff petticoats tilted up in front, her buttocks, in small soiled drawers, swinging close to the earth. Just then Aunt Alice came out of the kitchen door and stood on the step. In the sunshine her bare hair showed a burnt brown. The wind whipped her heavy skirts against her stout thighs. She saw Bobby crying with his mouth open and his eyes shut, trying to squeeze the tears from between his lids. "Hush that, Bobby! Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"