“Why, she must be sick near onto all the time, accordin’ to that.” “She is—pretty near.” She withdrew her hand. There was a stiff-looking lounge in one corner of the room. It was covered with Brussels carpet, and had an uncomfortable back, but it was dear to Demaris’s heart. She had gathered and sold strawberries two whole summers to pay for it. She sat down on it now and laid her hands together on her knees. The young man followed and sat down beside her. “Why, my dear,” he said, very quietly, “you can’t stand this sort of thing—it’s wearin’ you out. You never did look light an’ happy like other girls o’ your age; an’ lately you’re gettin’ a real pinched look. I feel as if ’t was time for me to interfere.” He took her hand again. It was dim twilight in the room now. Demaris turned her head aside. The tears brimmed over and fell fast and silently. “Interferin’ won’t do no good,” she said, resolutely. “There’s just two things about it. My mother’s sick all the time, an’ I have to wait on her. There’s nobody else to do it.” “Well, as long ’s you stay at home it’ll all come on you. You ain’t able to carry sech a load.” “I’ll have to.” “Demaris, you’ll just have to leave.” “What!” said the girl. She turned to look at him in a startled way. “Leave home? I couldn’t think of doin’ that.” He leaned toward her and put his arm around her, trembling strongly. “Not even to come to my home, Demaris? I want you, dear; an’ I won’t let you kill yourself workin’, either. I ain’t rich, but I’m well enough off to give you a comfortable home an’ some one to do your work for you.” There was a deep silence. Each felt the full beating of the other’s heart. There was a rosebush under the window, an old-fashioned one. Its blooms were not beautiful, but they were very sweet. It had flung a slim, white spray of them into the room. Demaris never smelled their fragrance afterward without a keen, exquisite thrill of passion, as brief as it was delicious. “I can’t, Frank.” Her tone was low and uncertain. “I can’t leave my mother. She’s sick an’ gettin’ old. I can’t.” “Oh, Demaris! That’s rank foolishness!” “Well, I guess it’s the right kind of foolishness.” She drew away and sat looking at him. Her hands were pressed together in her lap. “Why, it ain’t expected that a girl ’ad ought to stay an’ take care o’ her mother forever, is it? It ain’t expected that she ought to turn herself into a hospital nurse, is it?” Her face grew stern. “Don’t talk that way, Frank. That ain’t respectful to my mother. She’s had a hard life an’ so’s my father. You know I want to come, but I can’t. It’s my place to stay an’ take care o’ her. I’m goin’ to do it—hard ’s it is. My leavin’ ’em ’u’d just take the heart out of both of ’em. An’ there’s Nellie, too.”