fe about midday and entered his room. Xantippe was
there, talking to her child, and quietly bade him go away.

"It's my room as well as yours," Gregorio had answered.

"It is my money that pays for it," was the reply.

A long conversation followed, but Xantippe met the man's coarse anger
with quiet scorn, and told him that if he stayed she would grow to
dislike her son since he was the father.

Gregorio was wise enough to control his anger then. For he knew that if
she were really to lose her love for the boy, all his chances, and the
boy's chances, of ease and prosperity would be destroyed. It was, of
course, ridiculous to imagine she would supply him with money then.
That she thoroughly loathed him, and would always loathe him, was very
certain. So great, indeed, seemed her contempt for him that it was quite
possible she might come to hate his child. So he did not attempt to
remain in the room, but as he closed the door after him he waited a
moment and listened. He heard her heave a sigh of relief and then say
to the little fellow, "How like your father you grow! My God! I almost
think I hate you for being so like him." Gregorio shuddered as he ran
noiselessly downstairs. He never ventured to speak to her again. He
argued himself out of the disquiet into which her words had thrown him.
He knew it was difficult for a woman to hate her child. The birth-pains
cement a love it requires a harsh wrench to sever. He easily persuaded
himself, as he sipped Madam Marx's coffee, that if he kept in the
background all cause for hatred would be removed. As for her feelings
toward himself, he had ceased, almost, to care. The money was worth the
cost paid in the attainment of it, and a woman's laugh was less sweet to
him than the chink of gold and silver pieces. On the whole Gregorio
had little reason to be troubled; only unreasoning dislike for
the Englishman--why could not he be of any other nation, or, if an
Englishman, any other Englishman?--hurt his peace of mind. And for the
most part his discontent only smouldered.

Madam Marx brought her coffee and sat beside him. Her face betokened
satisfaction, and she looked at Gregorio with a possessive smile. She
had gained her desire, and asked fortune for no other gift.

"You have not seen Xantippe since she turned you out? Ah, well, it
is much better you should keep away. You are welcome here, and it is
foolish to go where one is not wanted."

"I've not seen her; I'm afraid to