"Yes--yes."

"Then why do you want to leave me for this man whom you hadn't
seen a year ago?"

"I love him, Ellen."

"Love! You talk like a school miss instead of a middle-aged
woman. He doesn't love you. He wants a housekeeper and a
governess. You don't love him. You want to be 'Mrs.'--you are
one of those weak-minded women who think it's a disgrace to be
ranked as an old maid. That's all there is to it."

Rosemary quivered. Ellen could not, or would not, understand.
There was no use arguing with her.

"So you won't release me, Ellen?"

"No, I won't. And I won't talk of it again. You promised and
you've got to keep your word. That's all. Go to bed. Look at
the time! You're all romantic and worked up. To-morrow you'll
be more sensible. At any rate, don't let me hear any more of
this nonsense. Go."

Rosemary went without another word, pale and spiritless. Ellen
walked stormily about the room for a few minutes, then paused
before the chair where St. George had been calmly sleeping
through the whole evening. A reluctant smile overspread her dark
face. There had been only one time in her life--the time of her
mother's death--when Ellen had not been able to temper tragedy