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The tears were welling over now, but her voice was steady. I would even have taken a place as waitress in a tea shop. Oh dear!—oh dear! Be careful of him," she added to her husband, "and get it over quickly, or never expect to see me again. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. “You mustn’t say anything more to your mother, Michelle. He would be so disappointed.
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