ed.

Maxwell, noting her paleness, demanded, "What's the matter? Aren't you
well?"

She wanted to cry out, "I'm hungry." But she, too, had her pride.

"Amy's ill."

He got it out of her finally. "The doctor is much worried about her. He
says she needs a change."

"You need it too."

She needed food, but she couldn't tell him that. The state of their
exchequer was alarming. It had been revealed to her since Amy's illness
that there was really nothing coming in until the next quarter.

"Why didn't you let Charlotte go, Ethel?"

"We've always had a maid. What would people think?"

"And because of what people think, Amy is to starve?"

"Anne, how can you?"

"Well, it comes to that. She needs things; and we don't need Charlotte."

But when they spoke to Amy of sending Charlotte away she was feverishly
excited. "There's nobody to do the work."

"I can do it," said Anne.

"We Merrymans have never worked," Amy began to cry. "I'd rather die,"
she said, "than have people think we are--poor."

V

Maxwell was a man of action. When he saw Anne pale he sought a remedy.
"Look here, why can't you and your sisters come out to my farm?"

Anne, remembering certain things--broilers and fresh eggs--was thrilled
by the invitation. "I'd love it! But Amy won't accept."

"Why not?"

"She's terribly stiff."

He laughed. "Perhaps I can talk her over."

Amy, lying on her couch, very weary, facing a shadowy future, felt his
magnetism as he talked to her. It was as if life spoke through his lips.
Murray had sat there beside her only an hour before. He had brought her
roses but he had brought no hope.

Fear had for weeks kept Amy company. Through her nights and days it had
stalked, a pale spectre. And now Maxwell was saying: "You'll be well in
a month. Of course you'll come! There's room for half a dozen. You three
won't half fill the house."

It was decided, however, that Ethel must stay in town. Amy had a nervous
feeling that with the house closed Murray might slip away from them.

Old Molly Winchell, summing up the situation, said to Murray: "Of course
Anne will marry Maxwell Sears. There's nothing like propinquity."

Murray, startled, admitted the danger. "It would be an awful thing for
Anne."

"Why?"

"He's rather a bounder."

Old Molly Winchell hit him on the arm with her fan. Her eyes twinkled
maliciously. "He's nothing of the sort, and you know it. You're jealous,
Murray."

Murray's jealousy was,