tell her
half enough. You let her think that you actually of your own free
choice went to work in the factory rather than go to college."

"So I did," replied Ellen, looking at him proudly.

"Of course you did, in one sense, but in another you did not. You
deliberately chose to make a sacrifice; but it was a sacrifice. You
cannot deny that it was a sacrifice."

Ellen was silent.

"But you gave Aunt Cynthia the impression that it was not a
sacrifice," said Robert, almost severely.

Ellen's face quivered a little. "I saw no other way to do," she
said, faintly. The authoritative tone which this young man was
taking with her stirred her as nothing had ever stirred her in her
life before. She felt like a child before him.

"You have no right to give such a false impression of your own
character," said Robert.

"It was either that or a false impression of another," returned
Ellen, tremulously.

"You mean that she might have blamed your parents, and thought that
they were forcing you into this?"

Ellen nodded.

"And I suppose you thought, too, that maybe Aunt Cynthia would
suspect, if you told her all the difficulties, that you were hinting
for more assistance."

Ellen nodded, and her lip was quivering. Suddenly all her force of
character seemed to have deserted her, and she looked more like a
child than Amabel. She actually put both her little fists to her
eyes. After all, the girl was very young, a child forced by the
stress of circumstances to premature development, but she could
relapse before the insistence of another nature.

Robert looked at her, his own face working, then he could bear it no
longer. He was over on the sofa beside Ellen and had her in his
arms. "You poor little thing," he whispered. "Don't. I have loved
you ever since the first time I saw you. I ought to have told you so
before. Don't you love me a little, Ellen?"

But Ellen released herself with a motion of firm elusiveness and
looked at him. The tears still stood in her eyes, but her face was
steady. "I have been putting you out of my mind," said she.

"But could you?" whispered Robert, leaning over her.

Ellen did not reply, but looked down and trembled.

"Could you?" repeated Robert, and there was in his voice that
masculine insistence which is a true note of nature, and means the
subjugation of the feminine into harmony.

Ellen did not speak, but every line in her body betrayed helpless
yielding.

"You know you could not,