She flushed and Helen heard her say: “Forget you—ever? Oh, please, Mr. Travis—” and her voice trembled.
“Oh, tut,” he said, frowning quickly—“nothing like that here. Of course, you will hate to leave the old mill and the old machine. Come, Maggie, you needn't wait—you're a good girl—we all know that.”
He turned to Helen and watched her as she drew in the threads. Her head was bent over, and her great coil of hair sat upon it like a queen on a throne.
What a neck and throat she had—what a beautiful queenly manner!
Travis smiled an amused smile when he thought of it—an ironical sneering smile; but he felt, as he stood there, that the girl had fascinated him in a strange way, and now that she was in his power, “now that Fate, or God has combined to throw her into my arms—almost unasked for—is it possible that I am beginning to fall in love with her?”
He had forgotten Maggie and stood looking at Helen. And in that look Maggie saw it all. He heard her sit down suddenly.
“I would go if I were you, Maggie—you are a good girl and we shall not forget you.”
“May I stay a little while longer?” she asked. “I won't ever come back any more, you know.”
Travis turned quickly and walked off. He came back and spoke to Helen.
“Remember, I am to take you home to-night. But it will be later than usual, on account of the pay-roll.”