The flush that her mother's words excited was one of anger as well as embarrassment. "Ma, you listen to me: I've never once told you that I might have Mr. Hawes! You've made that up yourself!"
"Made it up myself, indeed! when he's been taking you out night after night and treating you like a real lady!"
"And what's more," Ellen went on vehemently, "George Riley's worth twenty Philip Hawses!"
Mrs. O'Brien looked at her sharply. "Is it that you're going to marry Jarge Riley?"
Ellen, breathing hard, made answer a little unsteadily: "Yes."
Mrs. O'Brien dropped back limply into her chair. "Mercy on us!" she wailed, "and is this the end of your fine looks and your fine education—to marry a farmer like Jarge Riley! Why, you could have had him without any business college or nothing!"
Ellen stood up and Mrs. O'Brien, her face woe-begone and tragic, made one last appeal: "Ellen O'Brien, I ask you in all seriousness, are you determined to throw yourself away like that?"
Ellen was nothing if not determined. "I'm going down to Miss Graydon's now," she said in a casual tone which ended all discussion; "and me and George will probably get married in the spring."