"No, indeed," answered Lucy. "I'm glad to find you so strong. But it makes me feel you do not need me as much as I thought you did. You are perfectly able to take care of yourself without my help."

"Oh, I can take care of myself all right, young woman," Ellen returned with an acid smile. "I don't require a nurse--at least not yet."

Lucy maintained a thoughtful silence.

"I don't quite understand why you sent for me," she presently remarked.

"Didn't I write you I was lonesome?"

"Yes. But you're not."

Ellen laughed in spite of herself.

"What makes you so sure of that?"

"You don't look lonesome."

Again the elder woman chuckled.

"Mebbe I do, an' mebbe I don't," she responded. "Anyhow, you can't always judge of how folks feel by the way they look."

"I suppose not."

The reply was spoken politely but without conviction.

"An' besides, I had other reasons for gettin' you here," her aunt went on.

"I mentioned 'em in my letter."

"I don't remember the other reasons."

Ellen stared, aghast.

"Why--why--the property," she managed to stammer.

"Oh, that."

The words were uttered with an indifference too genuine to be questioned.

"Yes, the property," repeated Ellen with cutting sarcasm. "Ain't you interested in money; or have you got so much already that you couldn't find a use for any more?"

The thrust told. Into the girl's cheek surged a flame of crimson.

"I haven't any money," she returned with dignity. "Dad left me almost penniless. His illness used up all we had. Nevertheless, I was glad to spend it for his comfort, and I can earn more when I need it."

"Humph."

"Yes," went on Lucy, raising her chin a trifle higher, "I am perfectly capable of supporting myself any time I wish to do so."

"Mebbe you'd rather do that than stay here with me," her aunt suggested derisively.

"Maybe," was the simple retort. "I shall see."

Ellen bit her lip and then for the second time her sense of humor overcame her.

"I guess there's no doubtin' you're a genuine Webster," she replied good-humoredly. "I begin to think we shall get on together nicely."

"I hope so."

There was a reservation in the words that nettled Ellen.

"Why shouldn't we?" she persisted.

"I don't know."

"Don't you like your aunt?"

"Not altogether."

The audacity of the reply appealed to the older woman, and her eyes twinkled. "Not altogether, eh?" she echoed. "Now I'm sorry to hear that because I like you very much."

Lucy smiled. It was a radiant smile, disclosing prettily formed white teeth and a lurking dimple.

"That's nice."

"But you ain't a-goin' to return the compliment?"

"Not yet."

It was long since Ellen had been so highly entertained.

"Well," she observed with undiminished amus.e.m.e.nt, "I've evidently got to be on my good behavior if I want to keep such an independent young lady as you in the house."

"Why shouldn't I be independent?"

A few moments before Ellen would have met the challenge with derision; but now something caused her to restrain the retort that trembled on her tongue and say instead:

"Of course you've got a right to be independent. The folks that ain't ought to be made way with."

Her affirmation surprised her. She would not have confessed it, but a strange sense of respect for the girl before her had driven her to utter them.

Lucy greeted the remark graciously.

"That's what I think," she replied.

"Then at least we agree on somethin'," returned Ellen dryly, "an' mebbe before I put my foot in it an' lose this bit of your good opinion, I'd better take you up to your room."

She caught up the heavy satchel from the floor.