"I don't know any in New York." And again there was a silence.

"You haven't been here long," he said.

"You'll be going back now to your home, I suppose."

"I haven't any."

"Oh," he said. She glanced up and saw a gleam of uneasiness in his
steady tired eyes. She shrank a little.

"You have no relatives living?" he asked.

"None that I care about," she replied. She swallowed sharply. "They're
scattered--gone West. We lost track of them."

"Oh. . . . Then do you intend to stay here?"

"For awhile--if Joe wants me."

"I'll take care of Joe." Though the voice was low, it had an anxious
jealous note which made her shiver slightly.

"There's the child," she reminded him sharply. "Why not take it away?"
he asked. "Joe never cared for it, did he? Do you think it has been
happy here?"

And at that she could have struck him. At her glare he turned away.

"Forgive me. Of course I--should not have said that." A pause. "Nor