ng to her feet and faced him, her cheeks crimson
and her eyes flashing.

"Oh, how dare you!" she cried, with fiery indignation. "How CAN you?
You sit there and talk about him and--and call him names in that--that
condescendin' way as if he was dirt under our feet and yet--and yet he's
as far above us as the sky is. Oh, how can you! Don't you see how good
he is? Don't you SEE how he's sufferin' now, poor soul, and why? You say
he doesn't care for money; of course he doesn't. If it had cost fifty
thousand and he had it, I suppose he'd have used it just the same if he
thought it would help--help some friend of his out of trouble. But
what is tearin' him to pieces is the idea that he has, as he calls it,
cheated ME. That he has lied to Jethro and to me and hasn't been the
same straight, honest--GENTLEMAN he always is. That's all. HE doesn't
give himself credit for takin' his own money to help other folks with.
YOU would, _I_ would, but HE doesn't. He talks as if he'd robbed us,
or--or killed somebody or somethin'. He is the best--yes, I think he
is the best and finest soul that ever breathed. And you sit there
and--swing your foot and--and patronize--and call him a fool. A FOOL!...
I--I mustn't talk any more or--or I'll say somethin' I'll wish I
hadn't.... Good-night, Mr. Cabot."

She had held her handkerchief tightly crumpled in her hand during this
outburst. Now she dabbed hastily with it at either eye, turned and
hastened into the dining room, closing the door behind her.

A minute later Primmie came into the room, bearing a lighted lamp.

"I cal'late now I can dast come in here, can't I?" she observed, with
dignity. "Anyhow, I hope so, 'cause Miss Martha sent me. She said I was
to show you where your bedroom was, Mr. Cabot."

The Boston banker, who had scarcely recovered from the blast launched
at his head by his hostess, rose, still blinking in a dazed fashion, and
followed the lamp-bearer up the steep and narrow stairs. She opened a
door.

"Here you be," she said, tartly. "And I hope you'll sleep 'cause I'm
precious sure _I_ sha'n't. All I'll see from now till mornin' is Cap'n
Jeth gettin' ready to lam that Marietta Hoag one over the top of the
head. My Lord of Isrul! Don't talk to ME!"

Cabot regarded her with interest. "What is YOUR name?" he inquired.

"Primrose Cash."

"Eh? Primrose?"

"Um-hm. Name of a flower, 'tis. Some folks don't like it, but I do."

"Primrose!" The visitor slowly shook his head.