Constance was pale. She had been watching for him all night, and had heard from a neighbor the dismal result. Her heart was wrung with pity and distress, but she perceived that it was no time for consolatory words. She busied herself in preparing a cup of coffee, which presently she placed before him, stooping as she did so to kiss him softly on the forehead. He was sitting by the table with his legs thrust out and his hands sunk in his trousers pockets, chewing an unlighted cigar, one of those left from the supply he had bought for political hospitality. His wife's action seemed to remind him of her presence. He looked up at her viciously, showing the white of his eye like a surly dog. "What do you want?" "Your coffee, Emil." He glared at the smoking cup, then with a sweep of his arm dashed it away: "To hell with you and your messes, you--you fool!" The crash of the crockery was followed by silence. It seemed to Constance that she had been struck by a bullet, so confounding were his words. Her husband address her like that? What did it mean? "Emil," she gasped--"you are ill!" "Not ill, but tired of you." "Of me? Your wife? What have I done?" "Why didn't you consent to move to New York when I wished to go?" he snapped. "If you had, I wouldn't be in this fix, sold out by a pack of filthy Hibernian cut-throats." "I was ready to go if you wished it, Emil. We will go now--if only you do not speak to me so unkindly." "It's too late," he replied with a sneer. "What use would it be, anyway? We look at everything differently. We always have." "You do not realize what you are saying. You do not know what you are saying." "Crazy, am I? The best thing for you to do is to ask some of your church philanthropists to supply you with laundry work. You're likely to need it. The jig's up, I tell you. We haven't a dollar left." "Very well." "The mortgage money with the rest." He threw the chewed cigar on the floor and ground it with his foot. "Very well. I can bear anything except that you should speak to me so cruelly. Have I been afraid of work? Whatever has happened we mustn't forget the children, Emil. We must keep up our courage on their account at least." He scowled at the reference. "I'll look out for the children. Is there any beer in the house?" "No." Then after a moment's hesitation she added, "May I ask you something, Emil? Won't you give up beer? It is hurting your life. I am sure of it. I have felt so for some time, and you have known that I have hated your fondness for it. Give it up altogether and--and we will go to New York or anywhere you wish and make a fresh start."