always acted as though she'd rather have
her husband's old shirt stuffed with straw than any other man's whole
body. He was a real nice man, I guess, Mr. Purdon was."

There I had it--the curt, unexpanded chronicle of two passionate lives.
And there I had also the key to Mrs. Purdon's fury of independence. It
was the only way in which she could defend her husband against the
charge, so damning to her world, of not having provided for his wife. It
was the only monument she could rear to her husband's memory. And her
husband had been all there was in life for her!

I stood looking at her young kinswoman's face, noting the granite under
the velvet softness of its youth, and divining the flame underlying the
granite. I longed to break through her wall and to put my arms about
her, and on the impulse of the moment I cast aside the pretense of
casualness in our talk.

"Oh, my dear!" I said. "Are you and 'Niram always to go on like this?
Can't anybody help you?"

Ev'leen Ann looked at me, her face suddenly old and gray. "No, ma'am; we
ain't going to go on this way. We've decided, 'Niram and I have, that it
ain't no use. We've decided that we'd better not go places together any
more or see each other. It's too--If 'Niram thinks we can't"--she flamed
so that I knew she was burning from head to foot--"it's better for us
not----" She ended in a muffled voice, hiding her face in the crook of
her arm.

Ah, yes; now I knew why Ev'leen Ann had shut out the passionate breath
of the spring night!

I stood near her, a lump in my throat, but I divined the anguish of her
shame at her involuntary self-revelation, and respected it. I dared do
no more than to touch her shoulder gently.

The door behind us rattled. Ev'leen Ann sprang up and turned her face
toward the wall. Paul's cousin came in, shuffling a little, blinking his
eyes in the light of the unshaded lamp, and looking very cross and
tired. He glanced at us without comment as he went over to the sink.
"Nobody offered me anything good to drink," he complained, "so I came in
to get some water from the faucet for my nightcap."

When he had drunk with ostentation from the tin dipper he went to the
outside door and flung it open. "Don't you people know how hot and
smelly it is in here?" he said, with his usual unceremonious abruptness.

The night wind burst in, eddying, and puffed out the lamp with a breath.
In an instant the room was filled with coolness and perfumes and the