Virginia shook her head.

"You are very kind, Mr. Hadley. I know you mean well, and that you are my friend. My husband and I understand one another perfectly. Neither will consent to send for the other, so the situation will remain exactly where it is."

He rose to go.

"Is this final?"

She shook her head decisively.

"Yes--it is final."

"You will never go back to him?"

"Not till he comes for me."

He grasped her hand and the next minute was lost to view in the crowd.

All that night, while the Gillies slumbered peacefully, Virginia tossed restlessly on her bed, thinking over what Mr. Hadley had told her. Try as she would, she was unable to banish thoughts of her husband from her mind. If he still cared for her, if he missed her, why didn't he come for her? If he himself suffered, why did he let her go on weeping out her heart in this way? Why should two human beings allow their pride to make them suffer so abominably? She thought she would show herself the more generous of the two; and send him a message, urging him to come at once. Then, as she recalled his stern, merciless words, she again rebelled. No--no--it would degrade her in his eyes if she weakened! She would not--she would not! She loved him--yes--only now she realized how dearly she loved him; but it was just because she loved him that she would not forfeit his esteem. When morning broke, she was still wide awake, thinking, thinking, her eyes red and swollen from countless tears.

CHAPTER XX

The Gillies' new home was nothing to boast of. In fact they were ashamed of its shabbiness and lived in constant dread of some of their former acquaintances discovering their whereabouts and coming to see them. Yet it was the best they could expect to find for the little rent they were able to pay. Situated in one of the cheapest parts of Harlem, the flat was in a row of tenement-like buildings, facing a street always filled with noisy, unkempt children. The corridors and staircases were gaudily decorated and the narrow halls and small rooms, shut off from proper light and air, gave one a sense of suffocation. The furnishings were of the scantiest. Jimmie having incurred certain heavy debts, reckoning that the palmy days would always last, had been forced to sell his household effects to satisfy pressing creditors, so now they had to be satisfied with as few odd cheap pieces as they could manage with--a plain deal dining-table and a few ricketty chairs. Times were indeed hard. The shipping firm had also made a cut in Jimmie's salary, reducing him from $14 to $13 a week, so even with the $5 which Virginia contributed to the expenses, strict economy had to be exercised in order to make both ends meet.

f.a.n.n.y did her best to look cheerful under these depressing conditions, but there were days when her patience was sorely tried and when she found herself regretting that Virginia had "taken it so particular"

with Mr. Stafford. Of course, they all suffered by the sacrifice, but most of the burden fell upon her. She certainly had the worst of it.

Virginia, away all day, at least escaped the household drudgery. It was a terrible existence--scrubbing floors and washing dishes from morning till night, seeing n.o.body, beginning to lose hope that she would ever see a change for the better.

To-day she was feeling particularly tired and discouraged. She had been kept busy all morning looking after the baby's wants and cleaning the kitchen stove, and the exertion required by both duties had completely exhausted her. Wiping her grimy hands on her ap.r.o.n, she sank listlessly down on a chair in the kitchen to rest a while. It could not be for long. The afternoon was well advanced. Jim and Virginia would soon be home. She must think presently of getting dinner.

The baby slept soundly in her little crib undisturbed by the noise of the wintry gale outdoors. f.a.n.n.y sighed as she fondly gazed on the chubby little face. How unfair to bring such an innocent into the world, only to inherit trouble and want! What had become of the brilliant prospects for her daughter once held out when Virginia was a rich man's wife? Instead of improving, their situation grew steadily worse. Jim was making no progress. Instead of his salary being increased, it was always being reduced. He was the kind of man who made progress backwards, like a crab. He was not practical--that was the trouble. If only he had fewer ideas, perhaps he would make more money. It was very discouraging. But what good did grumbling ever do?

The work had to be done and the quicker she finished the stove, the better.

Wearily she rose from her seat and with a last look at the baby, was going towards the kitchen, when suddenly the doorbell rang violently.

The baby started in its sleep. Indignant at the noise f.a.n.n.y went and opened.

"Is that you, Jim?" she asked crossly.

"Yes," he called out.

"Well, I like your nerve!" she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "Couldn't you make less noise? You woke the baby!"

Her husband entered, attired in a heavy overcoat, the collar of which was turned up. His nose was blue, his eyes red and he was shivering with cold.

"Gee! but it's tough weather, all right!"

Taking off his overcoat and m.u.f.fler, and placing them on a chair together with his lunch box, he crossed the room to the radiator to warm his hands. f.a.n.n.y, still fuming, went to the baby carriage, folded the blanket and arranged the cushions. Angrily she exclaimed:

"Is that why you must ring the bell and wake the baby when you have the key? Don't you think I've got enough to do running this flat and cooking for three people and looking after the baby without having to go and open the door for you? Why didn't you open it yourself?"

Her husband looked at her in a stupid kind of way. With a grin he said:

"Well, if you must know, I've lost my key."

"Lost your key?"

"Yes."

"Don't you know that keys cost twenty-five cents apiece?"

"Sure I do."

"Well," she went on indignantly, "you want to remember that every quarter--yes, and every nickel--counts these days. You're not working for Mr. Stafford at a hundred a week now; you're a shipping clerk getting thirteen per! Not even fourteen--thirteen!"

Her husband squirmed. Shifting his feet uneasily he muttered

"You needn't rub it in."

f.a.n.n.y held out her hand.

"Hand it over," she commanded.

"What?"

"The thirteen," she said determinedly. "This is pay day. Come on!--come on!--come on!" she ordered, going up to him threateningly.

With a grimace, he thrust his hand in his trousers' pocket and bringing out a small roll of bills, handed it to his wife. She counted the money carefully, and then stuffed it inside her dress. He watched her, a comic expression of resignation on his face.

"Don't I get any?" he grumbled.

"Yes," she answered quickly, "you get carfare and cigar money--twenty cents a day and you get it each day--"

Saying this, she turned her back and fastening on her ap.r.o.n, made a move towards the kitchen. Jimmie, with a gesture of disgust, threw his lunch box on the table and dropped into a chair.

"Can't I even have lunch money" he growled.

f.a.n.n.y turned on him like a tigress. For some time he had been getting on her nerves and to-day she was in just the humor to let out what she felt. Angrily she exclaimed:

"Won't you ever get it into your head that I'm running this flat on eighteen dollars a week--thirteen from you and five from Virginia?

Lunch money! You're lucky even to get lunch!"

He made no reply, but lapsed into a sulky silence. Presently, with a wry face, he growled:

"I'm getting tired of nothing but dry sandwiches and dill pickles."