“Then it is untrue that you twice rejected his ring, repeatedly insulted him, and publicly renounced him?”

“That was through you!” cried Edith Carr.  “Phil and I never had been so near and so happy as we were on that night.  It was your clinging to him for things that caused him to desert me among his guests, while he tried to make me await your pleasure.  I realize the spell of this place, for a summer season.  I understand what you and your mother have done to inveigle him.  I know that your hold on him is quite real.  I can see just how you have worked to ensnare him!”

“Men would call that lying,” said Elnora calmly.  “The second time I met Philip Ammon he told me of his engagement to you, and I respected it.  I did by you as I would want you to do by me.  He was here parts of each day, almost daily last summer.  The Almighty is my witness that never once, by word or look, did I ever make the slightest attempt to interest him in my person or personality.  He wrote you frequently in my presence.  He forgot the violets for which he asked to send you.  I gathered them and carried them to him.  I sent him back to you in unswerving devotion, and the Almighty is also my witness that I could have changed his heart last summer, if I had tried.  I wisely left that work for you.  All my life I shall be glad that I lived and worked on the square.  That he ever would come back to me free, by your act, I never dreamed.  When he left me I did not hope or expect to see him again,” Elnora’s voice fell soft and low, “and, behold!  You sent him—­and free!”

“You exult in that!” cried Edith Carr.  “Let me tell you he is not free!  We have belonged for years.  We always shall.  If you cling to him, and hold him to rash things he has said and done, because he thought me still angry and unforgiving with him, you will ruin all our lives.  If he married you, before a month you would read heart-hunger for me in his eyes.  He could not love me as he has done, and give me up for a little scene like that!”

“There is a great poem,” said Elnora, “one line of which reads, ’For each man kills the thing he loves.’  Let me tell you that a woman can do that also.  He did love you—­that I concede.  But you killed his love everlastingly, when you disgraced him in public.  Killed it so completely he does not even feel resentment toward you.  To-day, he would do you a favour, if he could; but love you, no!  That is over!”

Edith Carr stood truly regal and filled with scorn.  “You are mistaken!  Nothing on earth could kill that!” she cried, and Elnora saw that the girl really believed what she said.

“You are very sure of yourself!” said Elnora.

“I have reason to be sure,” answered Edith Carr.

“We have lived and loved too long.  I have had years with him to match against your days.  He is mine!  His work, his ambitions, his friends, his place in society are with me.  You may have a summer charm for a sick man in the country; if he tried placing you in society, he soon would see you as others will.  It takes birth to position, schooling, and endless practice to meet social demands gracefully.  You would put him to shame in a week.”