Max, looking down at the floor, said:
“Don’t trouble yourself about my fortune, just look out for your own.”
“There won’t be any of my own to trouble myself about, if you and my father have the handling of it.”
“We’ll talk about that some other time,” said Max, as he left the house, without even a good bye to the woman he called his wife.
“Where are you going?” Irene called out, as he passed through the doorway.
“That is my business,” he replied, angrily.
“It will be mine, too,” she said, as she arose, trembling with rage.
It was her intention to follow Max, but when she tried 242 to put on her wrap she found herself unable to do so, sinking back upon the couch.
“I will not bear it, so help me, heaven. He shall not treat me so, leaving me ill and alone. I will follow him,” she said, trying again to arise, but was prostrated by a deathly faintness which followed her effort.
“Mary,” she called.