And so for a moment she sat very still and erect, looking exactly like a daffodil with the light on her yellow head, and her eyes shut, because there might be in them that twinkle which Simpkins had noticed and which he must not see. And presently she said, putting her hand on his shoulder, “Oh, Simpky, dear old Simpky, why couldn’t you have loved Ellen? What a difficult world it is.” “Ellen,” he said. “Oh.” “I can’t, Simpky. I simply can’t.” And he sat on his heels and looked like a pricked balloon. “Ain’t I good enough, Lola?” “Yes, quite good enough. Perhaps too good. But, oh, Simpky, I’m so awfully in love with some one else and it’s a difficult world. That’s the truth. I have to tell it to you. I can never, never marry you, never. Please accept this. Whatever happens to me, and I don’t know whatever _will_ happen to me, I shall always remember how good you were and how proud you made me feel. But I’m so awfully in love with some one else. Awfully. And perhaps I shall never be married. That’s the truth, Simpky.” And she bent down and kissed him on the forehead, and then got up quickly and raised the kneeling man to his feet. And he stood there, shattered, empty and wordless, with the blow that she had given him ever so softly marking his face, marking his soul. And Lola was very, very sorry. Poor old Simpky. Poor little Ellen. It was indeed a difficult world. VI The next day was Saturday,—a busy day for the Breezys, the one day in the week upon which they pinned their faith to make up for slack business during the remainder of it. In the morning Lola helped her mother to make an enticing display in the windows and along the counter in the shop itself. Mrs. Breezy had recently broadened out a little and now endeavored to sell kodaks and photographic materials, self-filling pens and stationery for ladies, which is tantamount to saying that it was stationery unfit for men. During this busy and early hour, while John Breezy, one-eyed, was looking into the complaints of wrist watches, most of which were suffering from having been taken into the bath, Lola answered her mother’s silent inquiry as to what had happened the previous evening. With a duster in one hand and a silver sugar basin in the other, she looked up suddenly and said, “No, Mother, it wasn’t and will never be possible. Poor old Simpky.” And Mrs. Breezy nodded and shrugged her shoulders. And Lola hoped that that would be the end of it. But why should she have hoped so, knowing women? A few minutes later Mrs. Breezy began.