Mrs. Richmond was completely possessed by her anger. A cowed creature is hardest to provoke, cannot be roused until it is literally crazed; then it is like any other lunatic. She laughed in the face of her tyrant. “Love!” she jeered. “Love you! You haven’t the least sense of humor, Dan, or you couldn’t say that.” Richmond quailed. “It’s true, Beatrice has less than the rest of us. But Rhoda and I need more than she does. Anyway, my life’s practically over. I’ve got no future--no hope elsewhere, or”--she sprang up and her eyes glittered insanely at him--“or do you suppose I’d stay on with you--you who have become nothing but a slave driver? Then there’s Rhoda. She and her husband need quantities of money. The little you’ve given her is nothing to what she wants and fawns on you to get. As for the boys, they’re too fond of being rich and showing off to dare do anything but cringe----” “A nice brood you’ve brought up, haven’t you?” frothed her husband. “They’re _your_ children at heart--all of them. You’ve ruined them. Yes, you--not I, but you!” He turned his back on her. “You go to Europe day after to-morrow, all the same,” he cried. “I’ll do nothing of the sort!” retorted she. “You will spend the money I allow you in the way I direct, or you will not get it,” rejoined he. “Ring for your secretary and your maid and the housekeeper. Set this swarm of idlers in motion. There’s no time to be lost.” “I’ll not go!” “Do you want me to give the orders? Do you want the servants to----” “Oh, you--_devil_!” she screamed. Then she burst into hysterical tears. “And I’ve got no will. I’m a weak, degraded nothing. If I were a dozen years younger! Oh--oh--oh!” Richmond rang the bell. “I’ve rung for your maid,” said he. “Stop that slopping--and get busy.” His tone indicated that he was not wholly pleased with himself. His wife hastily dried her tears and hurried into her dressing-room to remove the traces and to hearten herself with a stiff drink of brandy. Richmond continued to pace the boudoir. Marthe, the suave and ladylike, appeared with a note on her tray. She curtsied to Richmond and moved toward the dressing-room door. “What have you got there?” demanded Richmond. “A note for madame--from mademoiselle.” Richmond snatched it from the little, silver tray, tore it open. His hand shook as he read. “Where did you get this?” he asked, in a voice from which all the passion had died. “Mademoiselle gave it to Fillet as she was driving away.” “Go!” said Richmond; and as she went into the hall he entered the dressing-room. His wife was before the dressing-table mirror powdering her nose. He flung the note down before her. “Read that,” he cried. Mrs. Richmond read: _Dearest Mother_: