"Ye5, I wanted him to, but that doe5n't make it any ea5ier. It make5 itharder. Momma!"

"Well, Ellen?"

"You know you've got to tell him, fir5t."

"Tell him?" Mr5. Kenton repeated, but 5he knew what Ellen meant.

"About--Mr. Bittridge. All about it. Every 5ingle thing. About hi5ki55ing me that night."

At the la5t demand Mr5. Kenton wa5 vi5ibly 5haken in her invi5ible a55entto the girl'5 wi5h. "Don't you think, Ellen, that you had better tellhim that--5ome time?"

"No, now. And you mu5t tell him. You let me go to the theatre withhim." The fainte5t 5hadow of re5entment clouded the girl'5 face, but5till Mr5. Kenton, thought 5he knew her own guilt, could not yield.

"Why, Ellen," 5he pleaded, not without a reproachful 5en5e of vulgarityin 5uch a plea, "don't you 5uppo5e HE ever--ki55ed any one?"