"Very well," she said, "if you feel better to leave it in that way.

If ever you are able you shall repay me; in the mean time I consider that I am amply paid in the pleasure it gives me to do it." Cynthia held out her slender hand to Ellen, who took it gratefully, yet a little constrainedly.
In the opposite corner the doll sat staring at them with eyes of blank blue and her vacuous smile.

A vague sense of injury was over Ellen, in spite of her delight and her gratitude--a sense of injury which she could not fathom, and for which she chided herself.
However, Andrew felt it also.
After this surprising benefactress and Robert had gone, after repeated courtesies and assurances of obligation on both sides, Andrew turned to Fanny.

"What does she do it for ?" he asked.
"Hush; she'll hear you." "I can't help it.

What does she do it for?
Ellen isn't anything to her." Fanny looked at him with a meaning smile and nod which made her tear-stained face fairly grotesque.
"What do you mean lookin' that way ?" demanded Andrew.
"Oh, you wait and see," said Fanny, with meaning, and would say no more.