"He does!" she ejaculated, her eyes large. "Well?" she inquired.
I stared up at Edith on the step above me in silence.
"Well?" she repeated.
"You don't mean——" I began.
"His mother is sure to come around in time. They always do. My mother eloped," she said.
"Edith Campbell Vars," I exclaimed, "do you actually mean——" I stopped. Even in the dim light of the hall I saw her flush before my blank astonishment. "Do you mean——"
"Well, if you don't," she interrupted in defense, "everybody will think he threw you over. You'll simply become an old glove. There's not much choice."
"But my pride, my own self-respect! Edith Vars, you'd sell your soul for society; and you'd sell me too! But you can't—you can't! Let go my wrist. I'm sick of the whole miserable game. I'm sick of it. Let me go."
"And I'm sick of it too," flung back Edith. "But I've got a daughter's future to think about, I'd have you know, as well as yours. I've worked hard to establish ourselves in this place, and I've succeeded too. And now you come along, and look at the mess we're in! Humiliated! Ignored! Insulted! It isn't my fault, is it? If I'd paddled my own canoe, I'd be all right today."
"You can paddle it hereafter," I flashed out. "I shan't trouble you any more."