Edna drew her down upon the sofa, and taking
a pin from her own hair, secured the shabby artificial flowers in their
accustomed place.

"Aren't you astonished?"

"Passably. Where are you going? to New York? to Iberville? to your
father in Mississippi? where?"

"Just two steps away," laughed Edna, "in a little four-room house around
the corner. It looks so cozy, so inviting and restful, whenever I pass
by; and it's for rent. I'm tired looking after that big house. It never
seemed like mine, anyway--like home. It's too much trouble. I have to
keep too many servants. I am tired bothering with them."

"That is not your true reason, ma belle. There is no use in telling me
lies. I don't know your reason, but you have not told me the truth."
Edna did not protest or endeavor to justify herself.

"The house, the money that provides for it, are not mine. Isn't that
enough reason?"

"They are your husband's," returned Mademoiselle, with a shrug and a
malicious elevation of the eyebrows.

"Oh! I see there is no deceiving you. Then let me tell you: It is a
caprice. I have a little money of my own from my mother's estate, which
my father sends me by driblets. I won a large sum this winter on the
races, and I am beginning to sell my sketches. Laidpore is more and more
pleased with my work; he says it grows in force and individuality. I
cannot judge of that myself, but I feel that I have gained in ease
and confidence. However, as I said, I have sold a good many through
Laidpore. I can live in the tiny house for little or nothing, with one
servant. Old Celestine, who works occasionally for me, says she will
come stay with me and do my work. I know I shall like it, like the
feeling of freedom and independence."

"What does your husband say?"

"I have not told him yet. I only thought of it this morning. He will
think I am demented, no doubt. Perhaps you think so."

Mademoiselle shook her head slowly. "Your reason is not yet clear to
me," she said.

Neither was it quite clear to Edna herself; but it unfolded itself as
she sat for a while in silence. Instinct had prompted her to put away
her husband's bounty in casting off her allegiance. She did not know how
it would be when he returned. There would have to be an understanding,
an explanation. Conditions would some way adjust themselves, she felt;
but whatever came, she had resolved never again to belong to another
than herself.

"I shall give a grand dinner before I leave