"If it is true, all that we thought," he said slowly, "then no
hardship, no merely personal suffering should prevent ... the
experiment must be made ... must inevitably, _sometime_...."
"But not with her, not _her_, Mr. Wortley!" Luella cried. Her
expression turned quickly whimsical.
"You remind me o' me an' my mother one time, when I was a girl," she
cried. "I wanted to prove that you c'd raise biscuits without the
bakin' powder--I was terrible headstrong; I know what 'tis well
'nough, an' how hard 'tis to give 'way--an' she was tryin' to
persuade me.
"'I think 't least you might let me make th' experiment,' I says,
an' she turned to me--I c'n see her now an',
"'Luella,' says she, 'it's all very well for you to make th'
experiment, but I'm the one that'll have to pay the bill!' she says.
"It'll be like that with you, Mr. Wortley--you'll make th'
experiment, but _she'll_ pay!"
There was another silence.
"We always pay," Luella added thoughtfully, "it don't seem just
fair, but we do."
The young man shook himself suddenly, like a dog fresh from the
water.
"I didn't mean to--God knows I wouldn't hurt a hair of her head," he
said, in a low voice. His hands relaxed, his shoulders drooped. "It
seemed the best thing only this morning--is that what you meant this
morning, Dorothy, when we--when we--when I went away?" he asked
gently.
Pages:
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159