look. He would walk about speculating upon the mysteries of nature,
wondering how he was to get out of this, what was to become of him, how
soon, if ever, another picture would be sold, when? Angela, from having
fancied that his illness was a mere temporary indisposition, had come to
feel that he might be seriously affected for some time. He was not sick
physically: he could walk and eat and talk vigorously enough, but he
could not work and he was worrying, worrying, worrying.

Angela was quite as well aware as Eugene that their finances were in a
bad way or threatening to become so, though he said nothing at all about
them. He was ashamed to confess at this day, after their very
conspicuous beginning in New York, that he was in fear of not doing
well. How silly--he with all his ability! Surely he would get over this,
and soon.

Angela's economical upbringing and naturally saving instinct stood her
in good stead now, for she could market with the greatest care, purchase
to the best advantage, make every scrap and penny count. She knew how to
make her own clothes, as Eugene had found out when he first visited
Blackwood, and was good at designing hats. Although she had thought in
New York, when Eugene first began to make money, that now she would
indulge in tailor-made garments and the art of an excellent dressmaker,
she had never done so. With true frugality she had decided to wait a
little while, and then Eugene's health having failed she had not the
chance any more. Fearing the possible long duration of this storm she
had begun to mend and clean and press and make over whatever seemed to
require it. Even when Eugene suggested that she get something new she
would not do it. Her consideration for their future--the difficulty he
might have in making a living, deterred her.

Eugene noted this, though he said nothing. He was not unaware of the
fear that she felt, the patience she exhibited, the sacrifice she made
of her own whims and desires to his, and he was not entirely
unappreciative. It was becoming very apparent to him that she had no
life outside his own--no interests. She was his shadow, his alter ego,
his servant, his anything he wanted her to be. "Little Pigtail" was one
of his jesting pet names for her because in the West as a boy they had
always called anyone who ran errands for others a pigtailer. In playing
"one old cat," if one wanted another to chase the struck balls he would
say: "You pig-tail for me, Wi