"
"I am," he replied, grimly, and disappeared. She could hear the
slight unevenness of his steps as he moved about, but there was no
more whistling. Edith Boyd leaned both elbows on the top of a
showcase and fell into a profound and troubled thought. Mostly her
thoughts were of Willy Cameron, but some of them were for herself.
Up dreary and sordid by-paths her mind wandered; she was facing ugly
facts for the first time, and a little shudder of disgust shook her.
He wanted to meet her family. He was a gentleman and he wanted to
meet her family. Well, he could meet them all right, and maybe he
would understand then that she had never had a chance. In all her
young life no man had ever proposed letting her family look him over.
Hardly ever had they visited her at home, and when they did they
seemed always glad to get away. She had met them on street corners,
and slipped back alone, fearful of every creak of the old staircase,
and her mother's querulous voice calling to her:
"Edie, where've you been all this time?" And she had lied. How
she had lied!
"I'm through with all that," she resolved. "It wasn't any fun
anyhow. I'm sick of hating myself.
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