She shook her head. The tears trickled through her fingers.
"Does Mrs. Champney know that you are going to leave her?"
"No."
"Has it become unbearable?"
Another shake of the head. She searched blindly for her handkerchief, drew it forth and wiped her eyes and face.
"No; she's kinder than she's been for a long time—ever since that last stroke. She wants me with her most of the time."
"Has she ever spoken to you about remaining with her?"
"Yes, a good many times. She tried to make me promise I would stay till—till she doesn't need me. But, I couldn't, you know."
"Then why—but of course I know you are worn out by her long invalidism and tired of the fourteen years in that one house. Still, she has been lenient since you were twenty-one. She has permitted you—although of course you had the undisputed right—to earn for yourself in teaching the singing classes in the afternoon and evening school, and she pays you something beside—fairly well, doesn't she? I think you told me you were satisfied."
"Oh yes, in a way—so far as it goes. She doesn't begin to pay me as she would have to pay another girl in my position—if I have any there. I haven't said anything about it to her, because I wanted to work off my indebtedness to her on account of what she spent on me in bringing me up—she never let me forget that in those first seven years! I want to give more than I've had," she said proudly, "and sometime I shall tell her of it."