Then Ellen flushed—remembering Hilda's bare shoulders, the turn of her wrist as she flicked the ash of her cigarette—what would Amos say to that?
Amos saw the flush and felt his torturing suspicions return. Were there any young men in the house? Did the doctor have a son? Did they look upon Ellen with desire?
"Oh, Ellen!" he said wildly. "I haven't anything in the world but you!"
Ellen saw the hungry eyes; hitherto they had roused only pity—now they repelled.
"What you want can't be, Amos."
Amos plunged into fear that he had frightened her.
"I'll never say anything more, Ellen!"
They walked a few squares silently; then Amos said sadly, "I won't go any farther; I'll go down the other street." He was certain that he could trust her. There was no reason to be jealous of ambition.
When Ellen reached home she went upstairs and opening the door at the back of the second story went to the linen closet. The hall was bright with the light of the level sun and sweet with the odors of spring flowers. She believed herself to be quite alone and, Amos forgotten, stood still in intense enjoyment.
But she was not alone; a shrill voice from Hilda's room announced her presence.