I have fallen in love with you; and
why shouldn't I have you for my--"
She paused, hesitating: what was it she was about to propose to
the little lady standing before her? She had been going to say
_maid_: what was it that checked her? The feeling was to
herself shapeless and nameless; but, however some of my readers
may smile at the notion of a girl who served behind a counter
being a lady, and however ready Hesper Mortimer would have been
to join them, it was yet a vague sense of the fact that was now
embarrassing her, for she was not half lady enough to deal with
it. In very truth, Mary Marston was already immeasurably more of
a lady than Hesper Mortimer was ever likely to be in this world.
What was the stateliness and pride of the one compared to the
fact that the other would have died in the workhouse or the
street rather than let a man she did not love embrace her--yes,
if all her ancestors in hell had required the sacrifice! To be a
martyr to a lie is but false ladyhood. She only is a lady who
witnesses to the truth, come of it what may.
"--For my--my companion, or something of the sort," concluded
Hesper; "and then I should be sure of being always dressed to my
mind."
"That _would_ be nice!" responded Mary, thinking only of the
kindness in the speech.
"Would you really like it?" asked Hesper, in her turn pleased.
"I should like it very much," replied Mary, not imagining the
proposal had in it a shadow of seriousness.
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