"Then you've decided, I suppose, where you are going?"
"No—I don't know. Where could I begin to look for a—nice room that I can live in on my wages?"
Mrs. Campbell exclaimed impatiently. Her almost ruthless capability in dealing with situations did not prepare her to meet gracefully one that she could not handle. Her voice grew colder, and the smooth cheeks beneath the smooth, fair hair reddened while she continued to talk. Her arguments, her grudging attempts at persuasion, her final outburst of unconcealed anger, were futile. Helen would not go home. She meant to keep her job and to live on the wages.
"Well, then I guess you'll have to stay here. I can't turn you out on the streets."
"How much would you charge for the room?" said Helen.
"Charge!" Helen flushed again at the scorn in the word.
"I couldn't stay unless I paid you something. I'd have to do that."
"Well, of all the ungrateful—!"
Tears came into Helen's eyes. She knew Mrs. Campbell meant well, and though she did not like her, she wished to thank her. But she did not know how to do it without yielding somewhat to the implacable force of the older woman. She could only repeat doggedly that she must pay for the room.
She was left shaken, but with a sense of victory emphasized by Mrs. Campbell's inarticulate exclamation as she went out. It was arranged that Helen should pay five dollars a month for the room.