“He's that domineering,” she said to Ellen, “that I can't call my soul my own.”
“Good-night,” Ellen said briefly.
Willy stood at the foot of the stairs and watched her going up. He knew she liked him to do that, that she would expect to find him there when she reached the top and looked down, panting slightly.
“Good-night,” he called. “Both windows open. I shall go outside to see.”
Then he went back to Ellen, still standing primly over her Lares and Penates.
“Now tell me about it,” he said.
“I've left them. There has been a terrible fuss, and when Miss Lily left to-night, I did too.”
“She left her home?”
She nodded.
“It's awful, Willy. I don't know all of it, but they've been having her followed, or her grandfather did. I think there's a man in it. Followed! And her a good girl! Her grandfather's been treating her like a dog for weeks. We all noticed it. And to-night there was a quarrel, with all of them at her like a pack of dogs, and her governess crying in the hall. I just went up and packed my things.”