"I wish it were
possible."
"Why not, then? Why shouldn't it be possible? I don't suppose you
would mind using your needle a little?"
"Not in the least," answered Mary, amused. "Only what would they
do in the shop without me?"
"They could get somebody else, couldn't they?"
"Hardly, to take my place. My father was Mr. Turnbull's partner."
"Oh!" said Hesper, not much instructed. "I thought you had only
to give warning."
There the matter dropped, and Mary thought no more about it.
"You will let me keep this pattern?" said Hesper.
"It was made for you," answered Mary.
While Hesper was lazily thinking whether that meant she was to
pay for it, Mary made her a pretty obeisance, and bade her good
night. Hesper returned her adieu kindly, but neither shook hands
with her nor rang the bell to have her shown out Mary found her
own way, however, and presently was breathing the fresh air of
the twilight fields on her way home to her piano and her books.
For some time after she was gone, Hesper was entirely occupied
with the excogitation of certain harmonies of the toilet that
must minister effect to the dress she had now so plainly before
her mind's eye; but by and by the dress began to melt away, and
like a dissolving view disappeared, leaving in its place the form
of "that singular shop-girl." There was nothing striking about
her; she made no such sharp impression on the mind as compelled
one to think of her again; yet always, when one had been long
enough in her company to feel the charm of her individuality, the
very quiet of any quiet moment was enough to bring back the
sweetness of Mary's twilight presence.
Pages:
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257