In front, directly in her line of vision, sat the woman of whom she was jealous--the young widow, who had been Aggie Bemis, arrayed in a handsome India silk and a flower-laden hat.

Eva's hat was trimmed with a draggled feather and a bunch of roses which she had tried to color with aniline dye.

When she got home that night she tore the feather out of the hat and flung it across the room.

She wished to do it that afternoon every time she looked at the other woman's roses against the smooth knot of her brown hair, and that repressed impulse, with her alarm at Ellen's silence, had made her almost hysterical.

When Ellen's clear young voice rose and filled the hall she calmed herself.