r-pay a debt that's been owing a long time, for
it's like adding an accumulation of interest that one's creditor never
expected to get.

When, gasping after the first shock, I pleaded that I'd do anything
else, make any other sacrifice for Ellaline's sake, except this _one_,
she flashed out (with the odd shrewdness which lurks in her childishness
like a bright little garter-snake darting its head from a bed of
violets), saying that was always the way with people. They were
invariably ready to do for their best friends, to whom they were
grateful, anything on earth except the only thing wanted.

Well, I had no answer to make; for it's true, isn't it? And then
Ellaline sobbed dreadfully, clutching at me with little, hot, trembling
hands, crying that she'd _counted_ on me, that she'd been sure, after
all my promises, I wouldn't fail her. She'd felt so _safe_ with me! Are
you surprised I hadn't the heart to refuse? I confess, dear, that if I
were quite alone in the world (though the world wouldn't be a world
without you) I should certainly have grovelled and consented then and
there.

She says she won't close her eyes to-night, and I dare say she won't, in
which case she'll be as pathetic as a broken flower to-morrow. I don't
think I shall sleep much either, wondering what your verdict will be.

I really haven't the remotest idea whether it will be Yes or No. Usually
I imagine that I can pretty well guess what your opinion is likely to
be, but I can't this time. The thing to decide upon is in itself so
fantastic, so monstrous, that one moment I tell myself you won't even
consider it. The next minute I remember what a dear little "crank" you
are on the subject of gratitude--your "favourite virtue," as you used to
write in old-fashioned "Confession Albums" of provincial American
friends when I was a child.

If people do anything nice for you, you run your little high-heeled
shoes into holes to do something even nicer for them. If you're invited
out to tea, you ask your hostess to lunch or dinner, in return: that
sort of thing invariably; and you've brought me up with the same bee in
my bonnet. So what _will_ your telegram be?

Whatever you say, you may count on a meek "Amen, so be it," from

Your most admiring subject,

Audrie.

P. S.--Of course, it isn't as if this man were an ordinary, nice,
inoffensive human man, is it? I do think that almost any treatment is
too good for such a cold-blooded, supercilious old Dr