"Come in!" she cried, as she adjusted the shade of the lamp.

A tall, thin, pale woman entered, carrying a child that was partly hidden by a
thin shawl, their only outer protection against the chill winds which had been
blustering all day. Alida looked at the stranger inquiringly and kindly,
expecting an appeal for charity. The woman sank into a chair as if exhausted,
and fixed her dark hollow eyes on Mrs. Ostrom. She appeared consumed by a
terrible curiosity.

Alida wondered at the strange chill of apprehension with which she encountered
this gaze. It was so intent, so searching, yet so utterly devoid of a trace
of good will. She began gently, "Can I do anything for you?"

For a moment or two longer there was no response other than the same cold,
questioning scrutiny, as if, instead of a sweet-faced woman, something
monstrously unnatural was present. At last, in slow, icy utterance, came the
words, "So you are--HER!"

"Is this woman insane?" thought Alida. "Why else does she look at me so? Oh,
that Wilson would come! I'm sorry for you, my good woman," she began kindly.
"You are laboring under some mistake. My husband--"

"YOUR husband!" exclaimed the stranger, with an indescribable accent of scorn
and reproach.

"Yes," replied Alida with quiet dignity. "MY husband will be home soon and he
will protect me. You have no right to enter my rooms and act as you do. If
you are sick and in trouble, I and my husband--"