his bag rattled, and something snapped--perhaps another mirror broke.
He put one hand up to his head.

"It's that pension," Lizzie said, brokenly; "if I get married, I lose
it. An' we wouldn't have a cent to live on. You--you see how it is,
Nathaniel?"

He began to whisper to himself, not listening to her. There was a long
pause, broken by his strange whispering.

Lizzie Graham looked at him, and turned her eyes away, wincing with
pain;--the tears were rolling slowly down his cheeks. She put her
hand on his shoulder in a passion of pity; then, suddenly, fiercely,
she gathered the poor bowed head against her soft breast. "I don't
care! My name ain't worth as much as that! Let 'em talk. Nathaniel,
are you willin' _not_ to get married?"

But she had to speak twice before he heard her. Then he said, looking
up at her out of his despair: "What? What did you say?"

"Nathaniel," she explained, kneeling beside him and holding his hand
against her bosom, "if you were to come and live with me, and we were
not married--"

But he was not listening. A door opened down-stairs, and there was a
noisy burst of laughter; then it closed, and the hot room was still.

"Emily Butterfield will stand my friend," she said, her lips
tightening. Then, gently: "We won't get married; Nathaniel. You will
just come and visit me until--until the machine is finished."