She dropped her hands on her lap disconsolately; he took them in his, as he stooped over her. “Come, come, you’re not helpless,” he said, “because you’re not alone. Tell me, what has happened?” She drew her hands slowly from his, as she answered— “You must forgive me—crying; I’m not often so silly, but I couldn’t help it. If you hadn’t come, I don’t know what I should have done. Please sit down again and I’ll tell you.” She paused as though she were trying how best to begin her story. “I’ve left home. Left it altogether. I couldn’t stay there any longer. I tried hard to get used to things, but they got worse and worse. Then yesterday afternoon Edward was wild with me because I couldn’t—_couldn’t_ help him in his work. I broke out and—there was a regular scene between us. We quarreled—and—I came away here—what am I to do?” “Why here?” “It’s the only place I know. My father brought me here years ago; it wasn’t like this then, or didn’t seem so.” “Have you no plans at all?” he asked. “No, none. I must earn a living somehow. I’ve no money, and no friends, except you, and I’ve no right to bother you. I suppose you think I’m mad to run away like this—but the life there—it wasn’t life—it was killing me. “I don’t set up to judge people; don’t talk like that. The first thing is—you mustn’t stop in this dingy hole.” “Where else can I go?” “We must hunt up some decent rooms somewhere. This place would kill you.” “Decent rooms—with a decent rent! You forget I’m a working woman. The first thing to do is to find a way to earn my living.” He hesitated for a moment; was she playing with him, or talking in innocent earnestness? “What about your husband?” he asked abruptly. “Edward? I left a letter for him, telling him I had gone away and that—nothing on earth would persuade me to go back.” “Are you sure of that?” Her hands clinched as she answered: “Nothing could ever persuade me to go back to him. What would be the use of it? To begin it all over again? There would be no change; he couldn’t change, and I couldn’t—not as he would want me to. He’ll be miserable at first, but soon he’ll be all the better for my being away. He never loved me really; it’s only his work he loves.” “Won’t he search for you?” “I dare say. But he’d only preach again if he found me.” “Did you—did you—care for him?” “Love him? I thought I did when I married him, and didn’t know what he was. I was a girl then and knew nothing. Gradually I came to hate him. I couldn’t help it; you don’t know how heartlessly cruel a _good_ man can be—they’re so utterly selfish. But don’t let’s waste time on what has been. When I shut the door there last night, I shut it on the past. Now—what am I to do now? Can you help me? Do you know of any work I could do? Or how I could get it?” “Let me think,” he said, walking slowly up and down the room. “Why—why did you not keep your promise to come and see me at my studio?” “I—can’t tell you.” “Can’t tell me?” he said, surprised.