cided that to acknowledge Nathan would be the very least she could do in way of expiation.
"Isn't that something new?" Aunt Augusta inquired, pointing with a long finger at Reba's left hand reaching for the sugar-bowl.
"No, not very. I've had it over three years. It's my wedding-ring."
"Your what, did you say?"
"My wedding-ring. I guess I never mentioned to you that I was married."
Aunt Emma and Cousin Syringa sat down abruptly at that.
"Where's your husband, then?" demanded the still-erect Augusta.
Reba took a sip of tea before she answered. It was pretty hot. She poured a little milk into it.
"I don't know exactly."
Queer how detached her steady voice was from herself. Queer she could see and hear so clearly, manage so deftly knife and fork and spoon. It was like being two people—one moving, speaking, answering questions, the other looking on helpless, bleeding and dumb.
"Married? And don't know where your husband is?" pursued Aunt Augusta, incredulously.
Reba nodded.
Aunt Augusta came a step or two nearer.
"Has he left you?" she asked. "Wan't he good to you? You might as well tell us about him. We won't blame you, Reba. Did he treat you wrong some way?" Aunt Augusta's voice was almost gentle.
"Oh, no," Reba told her. "He didn't treat me wrong any way. You see, his business," she ex-
