liked her awfully, and she liked me."

"There's no accounting for tastes. What is it you know through her?"

"Why what their idea is. She went away because they didn't fork out. She
did like me awfully, and she stayed two years. She told me all about
it--that at last she could never get her wages. As soon as they saw how
much she liked me they stopped giving her anything. They thought she'd
stay for nothing--just _because_, don't you know?" And Morgan had a
queer little conscious lucid look. "She did stay ever so long--as long
an she could. She was only a poor girl. She used to send money to her
mother. At last she couldn't afford it any longer, and went away in a
fearful rage one night--I mean of course in a rage against _them_. She
cried over me tremendously, she hugged me nearly to death. She told me
all about it," the boy repeated. "She told me it was their idea. So I
guessed, ever so long ago, that they have had the same idea with you."

"Zenobie was very sharp," said Pemberton. "And she made you so."

"Oh that wasn't Zenobie; that was nature. And experience!" Morgan
laughed.

"Well, Zenobie was a part of your experience."

"Certainly I was a part of hers, poor dear!" the boy wisely sighed. "And
I'm part of yours."

"A very important part. But I don't see how you know that I've been
treated like Zenobie."