“Haven't I made enough trouble?” asked Willy Cameron, unhappily. “I can see her again, you know.”
“She's crazy to see you, Willy. And besides—”
Grayson had gone, after a moment's hesitation.
“Don't you see?” she said. “The others have always submitted. I did, too. But I can't keep it up, Willy. I can't live here and let him treat me like that. Or my friends. I know what will happen. I'll run away, like Aunt Elinor.”
“You must not do that, Lily.” He was very grave.
“Why not? They think she is unhappy. She isn't. She ran away and married a man she cared about. I may call you up some day and ask you to marry me!” she added, less tensely. “You would be an awfully good husband, you know.”
She looked up at him, still angry, but rather amused with this new conceit.
“Don't!”
She was startled by the look on his face.
“You see,” he said painfully, “what only amuses you in that idea is—well, it doesn't amuse me, Lily.”