story. The recital relieved her overwrought
feelings; her sobs quieted; her tears ceased. By the time they alighted
from the car, her manner had regained its usual composure.

She and Rosie waited outside the office until George had made out his
accounts and deposited his collections. Then all three started home.

For half an hour Rosie had not spoken. Neither of the others knew this,
for Ellen, of course, had been too engrossed in herself, and George too
engrossed in her, to notice it. Rosie was with them but not of them. She
walked beside them now close enough to touch them with her hand but
feeling separated from them by worlds of space. Her heart was like a
little lump of ice that hurt her every time it beat. She waited in a
sort of frozen misery for what she felt sure was coming. At last it
came.

"George," Ellen began. There was a note of soft pleading in her voice
that Rosie had never heard before. "Oh, George, I wonder if you'll ever
forgive me for the way I've been treating you?"

"Aw, go on!" George's words were gruff but their tone fairly trembled
with joy.

"I mean it, George," Ellen went on. "I've been as many kinds of a fool
as a girl can be and I'm so ashamed of myself that I can hardly talk."

"Aw, Ellen," George pleaded.

"And I've been horribly selfish, too, and I've imposed on ma and Rosie
here until they both must hate me." Ellen paused but Rosie made no
denial. "And I've treated you like a dog, George, making fun of you and
insulting you and teasing you. And, George, of all the men I've ever
known you're the only one that's clean and honest right straight
through. I see that now."

Ellen began crying softly, making pathetic little noises that irritated
Rosie beyond measure but were like to reduce George to a state of utter
helplessness.

"Aw, Ellen," he begged, "please don't talk that way!"

But Ellen wanted to talk that way. She insisted on talking that way. Her
pride had been dragged in the dust but, by this time, she was finding
that dust, besides being choking, is also warm and friendly and
soothing. Enforced humiliation is bitter but, once accepted, how sweet
it is, how comforting! Witness the saints and martyrs, and be not
surprised that Ellen O'Brien finally acknowledged as true all the
charges her late admirer had made. The fact was he had been too gentle
with her! She was worse, far worse than even he had supposed. She didn't
see how any one could ever again tolerate the mere si