nd said nothing; I think she hardly noticed I was
there. It was all about her husband. Everything was wrong; all had gone
crooked in their lives, and she did not know what she could do. At first
she could hardly tell what it was all about, but at last she explained.
For some years, three or four years, matters had not been very smooth
between them. They had quarrelled often, she said, about this thing and
the other, little things mostly; and gradually the rift had widened till
it became very broad indeed.

'Perhaps,' she said, 'if I had been able to have a child it would have
been different.' But fate was unkind and no baby came, and her husband
became more and more angry with her. 'And yet I did all for the best,
thakin; I always tried to act for the best. My husband has sisters at
Henzada, and they write to him now and then, and say, "Send ten rupees,"
or "Send five rupees," or even twenty rupees. And I always say, "Send,
send." Other wives would say, "No, we cannot afford it;" but I said
always, "Send, send." I have always done for the best, always for the
best.'

It was very pitiable to hear her opening her whole heart, such a sore
troubled heart, like this. Her words were full of pathos; her uncomely
face was not beautified by the sorrow in it. And at last her husband
took a second wife.

'She is a girl from a village near; the thakin knows, Taungywa. He did
not tell me, but I soon heard of it; and although I thought my heart
would break, I did not say anything. I told my husband, "Bring her here,
let us live all together; it will be best so." I always did for the
best, thakin. So he brought her, and she came to live with us a week
ago. Ah, thakin, I did not know! She tramples on me. My head is under
her feet. My husband does not care for me, only for her. And to-day,
this evening, they went out together for a walk, and my husband took
with him the concertina. As they went I could hear him play upon it, and
they walked down through the trees, he playing and she leaning upon him.
I heard the music.'

Then she began to cry bitterly, sobbing as if her heart would break. The
sunset died out of the sky, and the shadows took all the world and made
it gray and dark. No one said anything, only the woman cried.

'Thakin,' she said at last, 'what am I to do? Tell me.'

Then my friend spoke.

'You can divorce him,' he said; 'you can go to the elders and get a
divorce. Won't that be best?'

'But, thakin, you do not k