ith the black smear of shame. The men were silent
and inclined to be sulky. They seemed to hold together. They seemed
to be united into a strong, four-square silence and tension. They
kept to themselves--and Alvina kept to herself--and Madame kept to
herself. So they went about.

And slowly the cloud melted. It never broke. Alvina felt that the
very force of the sullen, silent fearlessness and fury in the
Tawaras had prevented its bursting. Once there had been a weakening,
a cringing, they would all have been lost. But their hearts hardened
with black, indomitable anger. And the cloud melted, it passed away.
There was no sign.

Early summer was now at hand. Alvina no longer felt at home with the
Natchas. While the trouble was hanging over, they seemed to ignore
her altogether. The men hardly spoke to her. They hardly spoke to
Madame, for that matter. They kept within the four-square enclosure
of themselves.

But Alvina felt herself particularly excluded, left out. And when
the trouble of the detectives began to pass off, and the men became
more cheerful again, wanted her to jest and be familiar with them,
she responded verbally, but in her heart there was no response.

Madame had been quite generous with her. She allowed her to pay for
her room, and the expense of travelling. But she had her food with
the rest. Wherever she was, Madame bought the food for the party,
and cooked it herself. And Alvina came in with the rest: she paid no
board.

She waited, however, for Madame to suggest a small salary--or at
least, that the troupe should pay her living expenses. But Madame
did not make such a suggestion. So Alvina knew that she was not very
badly wanted. And she guarded her money, and watched for some other
opportunity.

It became her habit to go every morning to the public library of the
town in which she found herself, to look through the advertisements:
advertisements for maternity nurses, for nursery governesses,
pianists, travelling companions, even ladies' maids. For some weeks
she found nothing, though she wrote several letters.

One morning Ciccio, who had begun to hang round her again,
accompanied her as she set out to the library. But her heart was
closed against him.

"Why are you going to the library?" he asked her. It was in
Lancaster.

"To look at the papers and magazines."

"Ha-a! To find a job, eh?"

His cuteness startled her for a moment.

"If I found one I should take it," she said.

"