"A moment ago I told you not to tell him you'd been here. Now I want you to tell him. He may even be expecting it. You see we have spoken of it, he and I." Evie Jeffries seemed about to say something, but "Just one moment," said Louie quietly---- She placed the picture against the wall again, face outwards. She did not display it as a taunt now; it had served its turn. As if Evie's looks had cheapened it, she no longer wanted it. She stood looking at it. "It was the last time I sat," she murmured to herself. Even that pale shadow of a bridal was to be taken from her. Well, let it go. This time it was her own foot that kicked the canvas aside; then like a flash she turned--Louie at her deadliest. "I suppose you're aware you've lost him, whether he knows it yet or not?" she demanded truculently. Again she was grateful to Evie that she stiffened up against her. Evie smiled. "Oh, that way--'whether he knows it or not'--nobody minds _that_ kind of losing! _That_ wasn't what you were trying to make me believe a few minutes ago. Thank you very much for the tea, not forgetting the advice," she went on, "and if I might return the compliment, I should like to give you a piece of advice too. You say you could get married if you like; I'd jump at that if I were you! You see, there's your boy. Quite a well-behaved little fellow he seems--quite a superior child--and now that I've seen for myself, I'm perfectly satisfied, thank you!" "Then," said Louie, advancing, "I'm going to spoil your satisfaction. Listen to me." Her eyes were like saucers of ice. "You've lost your husband. I'm not going to tell you how, but I'll tell you how you can find out. You can tell him what he wouldn't believe when I told him--that you're jealous. You've reason; ask him what it is. If he doesn't tell you, he daren't; if he does--ck!--it's all up between you. Do you suppose," she said slowly, "that _you're_ the kind of woman men tell things to? You, who can neither trust him nor be trusted by him? You, who spy on him when his back's turned? You, who listen while a miserable little Jewess makes mischief for you--for I guess Miriam Levey sent you here? _You_ think you love him? Look at me, I say"--she rapped out the words like a command--"listen, and I'll tell you _my_ idea of loving a man! I've messed my life; if you were anything but what you are you'd know that if you wanted to hurt me your way wouldn't be to point at my little boy and look round my bedroom as if you expected to find pipes and overcoats there! Oh, that's not the way! The way would be to let me see what a perfect marriage could be; there might be tears in my eyes then! But what's this you show me instead? Oh, I know what your marriage is without telling. It would take you and a woman to make a wife for a man! And what would mine have been if I hadn't thrown my chance away? What should I have said if I'd seen what you think you've seen? Listen! I