“She’s all right,” Isabel answered, breaking open a hot muffin.  “It’s funny that it should come at the same time as the other.”

“Why?” asked Rose, merely for the sake of making conversation.

“Because just as Mamma writes to tell me that marriage is slavery, but that if he can take care of me and Aunt Francesca approves of him, it will be all right, Allison writes and releases me from the engagement.”

“Poor boy!” sighed Madame.

“I don’t know why you should say ‘poor boy,’” Isabel observed, rather fretfully.  “He’s not very ill if he can write letters.  I’m sure I don’t feel like writing any.”

“I wasn’t thinking of that,” said Madame, half to herself.

“And as for his releasing me,” Isabel went on, coolly, “I’m glad he was decent enough to do it and save me the trouble of releasing myself.”

Rose got to her feet somehow, her face deathly white.  “Do you mean,” she cried, “that you would think for a minute of accepting release?”

“Why, certainly,” the girl replied, in astonishment.  “Why not?  He says himself that he can’t ask me to marry a cripple.”

Rose winced visibly.  “Isabel!” she breathed.  “Oh, Isabel!”

“My dear,” said Madame, with such kindness as she could muster, “have you forgotten that he saved you from death, or worse?”

“He didn’t do anything for me but to tell me to jump.  I did more for him than that.  Nobody seems to think it was anything for me to get up out of the dust, with my best white dress all ruined and my face scratched and my ankle sprained and one arm bleeding, and help the Crosbys carry a heavy man to their machine and lay him on the back seat.”

“I thought the Crosbys carried him,” put in Madame.  “They’re strong enough to do it, I should think.”

“Well, I helped.  I had to take all that nasty raw meat out of the back seat and throw it out in the ditch to the dogs, and stand up all the way home, bruised as I was, to keep him from falling off the seat.  We were in a perfect bedlam there for a while, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference to anybody.  Nobody cares what happens to me.”

“Besides,” she went on, with her voice raised to a high pitch by excitement, “I don’t see why I should be expected to marry a man with only one hand.  He can’t play any more, and if he can’t play, how can he make any money to take care of me, even if I should tie myself to him for life?  Do you expect me to take in washing and take care of him?”

“Isabel,” said Madame, coldly, “please stop talking so loudly and please listen for a moment.  Nobody expects you to marry a man whom, for any reason on earth, you do not love well enough to marry.  Kindly consider that as something to be settled in accordance with your own wishes and desires.”

“Certainly,"’ interrupted the girl.  “I’d like to see anybody force me to marry him!”

Madame compressed her lips into a thin, tight line, and her face became stern, even hard.  She clenched her small hands tightly and her breath came quickly.  A red spot burned on either cheek.