“I hope you’ll be happy, Ellen,” she said gently.
“Oh, Rosemary,” Ellen looked up in distress, “I’m so ashamed—I don’t deserve it—after all I said to you—”
“We won’t speak about that,” said Rosemary hurriedly and decidedly.
“But—but,” persisted Ellen, “you are free now, too—and it’s not too late—John Meredith—”
“Ellen West!” Rosemary had a little spark of temper under all her sweetness and it flashed forth now in her blue eyes. “Have you quite lost your senses in every respect? Do you suppose for an instant that I am going to go to John Meredith and say meekly, ‘Please, sir, I’ve changed my mind and please, sir, I hope you haven’t changed yours.’ Is that what you want me to do?”
“No—no—but a little—encouragement—he would come back—”
“Never. He despises me—and rightly. No more of this, Ellen. I bear you no grudge—marry whom you like. But no meddling in my affairs.”
“Then you must come and live with me,” said Ellen. “I shall not leave you here alone.”
“Do you really think that I would go and live in Norman Douglas’s house?”
“Why not?” cried Ellen, half angrily, despite her humiliation.