was
very silent, since she did not wish him to go with her, though she
was all the time reproaching herself for it. Granville kept casting
about for something to say which should ingratiate him with her. He
was resolved to say nothing of love to her.

"It is a beautiful night," he said.

"Yes, it is," agreed Ellen, and she looked at the moon. She felt the
boy's burning, timid, worshipful eyes on her face. She trembled, and
yet she was angry and annoyed. She felt in an undefined fashion that
she herself was the summer night and the flowers and the crescent
moon, and all that was fair and beautiful in the whole world to this
other soul, and shame seized her instead of pride. He seemed to
force her to a sight of her own pettiness, as is always the case
when love is not fully returned. She made an impatient motion with
the shoulder next Granville, and walked faster.

"You said you were going to Miss Lennox's," he remarked, anxiously,
feeling that in some way he had displeased her.

"Yes, to carry her some sweet-peas."

"She must have been real good-looking when she was young," Granville
said, injudiciously.

"When she was young," retorted Ellen, angrily. "She is beautiful
now. There is not another woman in Rowe as beautiful as she is."

"Well, she is good-looking enough," agreed Granville, with
unreasoning jealousy. He had not heard of Ellen's good fortune. His
mother had not told him. She was a tenderly sentimental woman, and
had always had her fancies with regard to her son and Ellen
Brewster. When she heard the news she reflected that it would
perhaps remove the girl from her boy immeasurably, that he would be
pained, so she said nothing. Every night when he came home she had
watched his face to see if he had heard.

Now Ellen told him. "You know what Miss Cynthia Lennox is going to
do for me," she said, abruptly, almost boastfully, she was so eager
in her partisanship of Cynthia.

Granville looked at her blankly. They were coming into the crowded,
brilliantly lighted main street of the city, and their two faces
were quite plain to each other's eyes.

"No, I don't," said he. "What is it, Ellen?"

"She is going to send me to Vassar College."

Granville's face whitened perceptibly. There was a queer sound in
his throat.

"To Vassar College!" he repeated.

"Yes, to Vassar College. Then I shall be able to get a good school,
and teach, and help father and mother."

Granville continued to look at her, and