At ten o'clock Maggie, who had been calling on a friend, came in with Ferdinand. The boy made straight for the couch and was instantly asleep. Maggie was struck at once by the unwonted sight of her husband writing, but her sulkiness fought her curiosity for more than a minute, during which she removed her hat and jacket, before the latter could gain a grudged victory. "What are you doing?" she asked shortly. "Writing a letter," he answered, keeping his eyes on the paper. She leaned over his shoulder and read a few lines. Her features stiffened. "What're you going to do with that?" "Print it." "But you'll have to pay for it." "Yes." "How much?" "About fifty dollars." She gasped, and her sullen composure fled. "Fifty dollars! For that--that----" Breath failed her. Tom looked around. Her black eyes were blazing. Her hands were clenched. Her full breast was rising and falling rapidly. "Tom Keating, this is about the limit!" she broke out. "Hain't your foolishness learnt you anything yet? It's cost you seven dollars a week already. And here you are, throwing fifty dollars away all in one lump! Fifty dollars!" Her breath failed her again. "That's like you! You'll throw money away, and let me go without a decent rag to my back!" Tom arose. "Maggie," he said, in a voice that was cold and hard, "I don't expect any sympathy from you. I don't expect you to understand what I'm about. I don't think you want to understand. But I do expect you to keep still, if you've got nothing better to say than you've just said!" Maggie had lost herself. "Is that a threat?" she cried furiously. "Do you mean to threaten me? Why, you brute! D'you think you can make me keep still? You throw away money that's as much mine as yours!--you make me suffer for it!--and yet you expect me never to say a word, do you?" Tom glared at her. His hands tingled to lay hold of her and shake her. But, as he glared, he thought of the woman he had so recently left, and a sense of shame for his desire crept upon him. And, too, he began vaguely to feel, what it was inevitable he should some time feel, the contrast between his wife ... and this other. His silence added to her frenzy. "You threaten me? What do I care for your threats! You can't do anything worse than you already have done,--and are doing. You're ruining us! Well, what are you standing there for? Why----" There was but one thing for Tom to do, that which he had often had to do before,--go into the street. He put the scribbled sheets into his coat, and left her standing there in the middle of the floor pouring out her fury. He walked about till he thought she would be asleep, then returned. A glance into their bedroom showed her in bed, and Ferdinand in his cot at the bed's foot. He sat down again at the table and resumed his clumsy pencil.