Luella cried. Her expression turned quickly whimsical.
"You remind me o' me an' my mother one time, when I was a girl," she cried. "I wanted to prove that you c'd raise biscuits without the bakin' powder—I was terrible headstrong; I know what 'tis well 'nough, an' how hard 'tis to give 'way—an' she was tryin' to persuade me.
"'I think 't least you might let me make th' experiment,' I says, an' she turned to me—I c'n see her now an',
"'Luella,' says she, 'it's all very well for you to make th' experiment, but I'm the one that'll have to pay the bill!' she says.
"It'll be like that with you, Mr. Wortley—you'll make th' experiment, but she'll pay!"
There was another silence.
"We always pay," Luella added thoughtfully, "it don't seem just fair, but we do."
The young man shook himself suddenly, like a dog fresh from the water.
"I didn't mean to—God knows I wouldn't hurt a hair of her head," he said, in a low voice. His hands relaxed, his shoulders drooped. "It
