Then Ellen flushed--remembering Hilda's bare shoulders, the turn of her wrist as she flicked the ash of her cigarette--what would Amos say to that?
Amos saw the flush and felt his torturing suspicions return. Were there any young men in the house? Did the doctor have a son? Did they look upon Ellen with desire?
"Oh, Ellen!" he said wildly. "I haven't anything in the world but you!"
Ellen saw the hungry eyes; hitherto they had roused only pity--now they repelled.
Amos plunged into fear that he had frightened her.
They walked a few squares silently; then Amos said sadly, "I won't go any farther; I'll go down the other street." He was certain that he could trust her. There was no reason to be jealous of ambition.
When Ellen reached home she went upstairs and opening the door at the back of the second story went to the linen closet. The hall was bright with the light of the level sun and sweet with the odors of spring flowers. She believed herself to be quite alone and, Amos forgotten, stood still in intense enjoyment.
But she was not alone; a shrill voice from Hilda's room announced her presence.
Stephen's voice in answer expressed an eager desire to placate.
"You can!" Uncontradicted Hilda went on more loudly, "It's on account of the woman in your office!"
"That's one of the reasons. I certainly can't let her go blind."
Ellen closed the door softly. When her knees would carry her, she went slowly to the third story. Fetzer sat behind her closed door; she kept Stephen's worst troubles a secret from herself when that was possible. She surmised with distress that they had recently grown more acute. Now she opened the door quickly.
"Yes," answered Ellen, her face in shadow.
"Well, you needn't do anything more downstairs."
Ellen closed the door of her own room and stood against it.
"How dreadful!" she said to herself. "It is she who is shameless."
When she had had her supper she walked a little distance along the river-bank to a favorite bench. She looked back at the gray house and saw the moon shining on its irregular roof. There were trees between it and her and it seemed to stand isolated, a grim and solemn habitation.
So Mrs. Lanfair was like that! How troubled Dr. Lanfair must be! Resentment had now faded wholly, she was filled with pity. Then suddenly in her dark eyes appeared the emotion expressed by Fetzer's single eye, by Miss Knowlton's pale blue orbs and by Miss MacVane's dim vision, the tenderness with which most women regard a man who for some reason is reduced from the superior position which should be his. She longed, as they did, with her whole heart, to be of some supreme service to him. Her wish was soon to be granted.