Hilda slowly turned and watched the spectacle--the swollen, pudgy
face, tear-stained, silly, ugly, the tears and kisses falling
upon the likeness of HER lover. She suddenly sprang at Lena, her
face like a thunder-storm, her black brows straight and her great
eyes flashing. ``You lie!'' she exclaimed. And she tore the
photograph from Lena's hands and clasped it to her bosom.

Lena shrank in physical fear from this aroused lioness. ``He's
my husband,'' she whined. ``You haven't got any right to his
picture.''

``You lie!'' repeated Hilda, throwing back her head.

``It's the truth,'' said Lena, beginning to cry. ``I swear to
God it's so. You can ask pa if it ain't. He's Mr. Ganser, the
brewer.''

``Who sent you here to lie about him to me?''

``Oh, you needn't put on. You knew he was married. I don't
wonder you're mad. He's MY husband, while he's only been making
a fool of YOU. You haven't got any shame.'' Lena's eyes were on
the photograph again and her jealousy over-balanced fear. She
laughed tauntingly.

``Of course you're trying to brazen it out. Give me that
picture! He's my husband!''

Just then Ganser appeared in the doorway-- he did not trust his
daughter and had followed her when he thought she was staying too