The new tone in her voice startled him. He looked at her in a
bewildered fashion. He got up from the bed.

"Why, Maggie--I only--only--"

He stared from her to the candle and from the candle back to her
again.

"Now go," she repeated. "Quick now."

He hung his head. "Now you're angry--angry with your poor ole uncle-
-poor ole uncle." He looked at her, his eyes puzzled as though he
had never seen her before.

"You're very hard," he said, shaking his head. He stumbled towards
the door--"Very hard," he repeated, and went out, his head still
hanging.

She heard him knock his foot against the stairs. Soon there was
silence.

She blew out the candle and went back to bed. She lay there, her
heart, at first, throbbing, her eyes straining the darkness. Then
she grew more tranquil. She felt in her heart a strange triumph as
though already she had begun life and had begun it with success. She
thought, before she sank deep into sleep, that anything would yield
to one did one only deal sensibly with it . . . After all, it was a
fine thing to be alone.