Ellen nodded.
“Why, Ellen Brewster, didn't you want to see him?”
Ellen turned from Abby with an impatient gesture, buried her face in the bed, and began to weep.
Abby leaned over her caressingly. “Ellen dear,” she whispered, “what is the matter; what are you crying for? What made you run away?”
Ellen sobbed harder.
Abby looked at Ellen's prostrate figure sadly. “Ellen,” she began; then she stopped, for her own voice quivered. Then she went on, quite steadily. “Ellen,” she said, “you like him.”
“No, I don't,” declared Ellen. “I won't. I never will. Nothing shall make me.”
But Abby continued to look at her sadly and jealously. “There's a power over us which is too strong for girls,” said she, “and you've come under it, Ellen, and you can't help it.” Then she added, with a great, noble burst of utter unselfishness: “And I'm glad, I'm glad, Ellen. That man can lift you out of the grind.”
But Ellen sat up straight and faced her, with burning cheeks, and eyes shining through tears. “I will never be lifted out of the grind as long as those I love are in it,” said she.
“Do you suppose it would make it any better for your folks to see you in it all your life along with them?” said Abby. “Suppose you married a fellow like Granville Joy?”