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He’s just. ” “Such independence,” he answered quickly, “is a vice. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. It'll be turning over to-morrow. “Thank you. I can’t do it even decently myself, and I dare not run the risk of ruining all my clothes. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. She felt like a dried-up old woman.
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