She paused, apparently to straighten out with care the fingers of her shabby little gloves; then she looked up, a spark of defiance in her blue eyes.
"Elizabeth," she said, "I think I ought to tell you that Mr. Hickey has asked me to marry him; but I——"
"Oh, Evelyn! How glad I am!"
"I refused him," said Miss Tripp concisely.
"Refused him! but why? Sam thinks him one of the finest men he knows, kind, good as gold, and very successful in his profession. You would be so comfortable, Evelyn, and all your problems solved."
Miss Tripp arose. She was looking both defiant and unhappy now, but prettier withal than Elizabeth had ever seen her.
"I don't want to be comfortable, as you call it, Betty," she said passionately. "I—I want—to be loved. If he had even pretended to—like me, even a little. But I—I had told him all about my perplexities, I'm sure I can't imagine why—except that I pined for something—sympathy, I thought it was, and he—offered me—money. Think of it, Elizabeth! And when I refused, he—offered to marry me. He said he could make me—comfortable!"
Her voice choked a little over the last word. "Of course," she went on, "I know I'm not young and pretty any more; but—but I—couldn't marry a man who was just sorry for me, as one would be sorry for a forlorn, lost ki-kitten!"
"He does love you, Evelyn; I'm sure he does," Elizabeth said convincingly. "Only he—doesn't know how to say so. If I could only——"
Miss Tripp looked up out of the damp folds of her handkerchief.