matters pertaining to the running of the farm. Frequently in the
evenings they sat together in the far corner of the living room, Eddie
talking in a low voice, while Gertie, always at her eternal sewing,
listened with close attention, often nodding her head in approval, but
occasionally shaking it vehemently when any project failed to meet with
her approbation. Occasionally her sharp bird-like glance flashed over
the other occupants of the room: at the three men yarning lazily by the
big stove or playing cards at the dining table and at Nora making a
pretense of reading a six-months-old magazine, or writing, her portfolio
on her knee. Always, when Nora encountered that glance, she understood
its exultant message.

"Look, you," it said as plainly as if it had been couched in actual
words, "look at me ruling over my little court, advising, as a queen
might, with her prime minister. You think yourself my superior, you with
your fine-lady's airs and graces! A pretty pass your education and
accomplishments have brought you to. Of what use are you to anyone?"

There was no blinking the fact: the antagonism between the two women was
too instinctive, too deep ever to be more than superficially covered
over. They each recognized it. And yet neither was wholly to blame. It
had its roots in conditions that were far more significant than mere
personal feeling.

Nora, for her part, had come to her brother's house with the sincere
intention of doing everything in her power to win her sister-in-law's
good will if not affection. She had believed that their common fondness
for Eddie would be a sure foundation on which to build. But from the
first, without being at all conscious of it, her manner breathed
patronage and disapproval of a mode of life so foreign to all her