"Are you going to stay here?" she
demanded.
"Why, yes, Miss Ellen."
"Your mother would break her heart if she knew the way you're living."
"I'm very comfortable. We've tried to get a ser--" He changed
color at that. In the simple life of the village at home a woman
whose only training was the town standard of good housekeeping might
go into service in the city and not lose caste. But she was never
thought of as a servant. "--help," he substituted. "But we can't
get any one, and Mrs. Boyd is delicate. It is heart trouble."
"Does that girl work where you do?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Is she engaged to you? She calls you Willy." He smiled into her
eyes.
"Not a bit of it, or thinking of it."
"How do you know what she's thinking? It's all over her. It's
Willy this and Willy that--and men are such fools."
There flashed into his mind certain things that he had tried to
forget; Edith at his doorway, with that odd look in her eyes; Edith
never going to sleep until he had gone to bed; and recently, certain
things she had said, that he had passed over lightly and somewhat
uncomfortably.
"That's ridiculous, Miss Ellen. But even if it were true, which it
isn't, don't you think it would be rather nice of her?" He smiled.
Pages:
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297