“I scarcely think I should follow your example so far,” said Elnora dryly.  “I have a feeling for Philip that would prevent my hurting him purposely, either in public or private.  As for managing a social career for him he never mentioned that he desired such a thing.  What he asked of me was that I should be his wife.  I understood that to mean that he desired me to keep him a clean house, serve him digestible food, mother his children, and give him loving sympathy and tenderness.”

“Shameless!” cried Edith Carr.

“To which of us do you intend that adjective to apply?” inquired Elnora.  “I never was less ashamed in all my life.  Please remember I am in my own home, and your presence here is not on my invitation.”

Miss Carr lifted her head and struggled with her veil.  She was very pale and trembling violently, while Elnora stood serene, a faint smile on her lips.

“Such vulgarity!” panted Edith Carr.  “How can a man like Philip endure it?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” inquired Elnora.  “I can call him with one breath; but, if he judged us as we stand, I should not be the one to tremble at his decision.  Miss Carr, you have been quite plain.  You have told me in carefully selected words what you think of me.  You insult my birth, education, appearance, and home.  I assure you I am legitimate.  I will pass a test examination with you on any high school or supplementary branch, or French or German.  I will take a physical examination beside you.  I will face any social emergency you can mention with you.  I am acquainted with a whole world in which Philip Ammon is keenly interested, that you scarcely know exists.  I am not afraid to face any audience you can get together anywhere with my violin.  I am not repulsive to look at, and I have a wholesome regard for the proprieties and civilities of life.  Philip Ammon never asked anything more of me, why should you?”

“It is plain to see,” cried Edith Carr, “that you took him when he was hurt and angry and kept his wound wide open.  Oh, what have you not done against me?”

“I did not promise to marry him when an hour ago he asked me, and offered me this ring, because there was so much feeling in my heart for you, that I knew I never could be happy, if I felt that in any way I had failed in doing justice to your interests.  I did slip on this ring, which he had just brought, because I never owned one, and it is very beautiful, but I made him no promise, nor shall I make any, until I am quite, quite sure, that you fully realize he never would marry you if I sent him away this hour.”

“You know perfectly that if your puny hold on him were broken, if he were back in his home, among his friends, and where he was meeting me, in one short week he would be mine again, as he always has been.  In your heart you don’t believe what you say.  You don’t dare trust him in my presence.  You are afraid to allow him out of your sight, because you know what the results would be.  Right or wrong, you have made up your mind to ruin him and me, and you are going to be selfish enough to do it.  But——­”