“He never said he was, aigh? ’Reldy Winser, you ain’t got enough spunk to keep a chicken alive, let alone a woman! ‘He never said he was,’ aigh? Well, ain’t he been a-comin’ here three nights a week nigh onto two year, an’ a-takin’ you every place, an’ never a-lookin’ at any other girl? An’ didn’t he give you an amyfist ring las’ Christmas, an’ a reel garnet pin on your birthday? An’ didn’t he come here one evenin’, a-laffin’ an’ a-actin’ up foolish in a great way an’ holler out—‘Hello, maw Winser?’ Now, don’t you go a-tellin’ me he never meant anything serious.” “Well, he never said so,” said the girl, stubbornly. “I don’t care if he _never_ said so. He acted so. Why, for pity’s sake! You’ve got a grease-spot on your dress. I never see you with a grease-spot before—you’re so tidy. How’d you get it on?” “Oh, I don’t know.” “Benzine’ll take it out. Well—I’m a-goin’ to give him a piece o’ my mind!” Zarelda lifted her body suddenly. She looked tall. Her eyes flamed out their proud fire. “Now, see here, maw,” she said, “you don’t say a word to him—not a word. This ain’t your affair; it’s mine. It’s the fashion in fact’ry society for a girl an’ a fellow to go together, an’ give each other things, without bein’ real engaged; an’ she has to take her chances o’ some other girl gettin’ him away from her. If he wants to throw off on her, all he’s got to do ’s to take some other girl to a dance or out walkin’. An’ then, if he’s give her a ring or anything, it’s etiquette for her to send it back to him, an’ he’ll most likely give it to the other girl. I don’t think it’s right, an’ I don’t say but what it’s hard—” her voice trembled and broke, but she conquered her emotion stubbornly and went on—“but it’s the way in fact’ry society. There ain’t a girl in the fact’ry but what’s had to stand it some time or other, an’ I guess I can. You don’t want me to be a laffin’-stawk, do you?” “No, I don’t.” Her mother looked at her in a kind of admiring despair. “But I never hear tell of such fashions an’ such doin’s in all my born days. It’s shameful. Your paw an’ me ’d set our minds on your a-marryin’ him an’ gettin’ a home o’ your own. It’s been a burden off o’ our minds for a year past—” “Oh, maw!” “Just to feel that you’d be fixed so’s you could take care o’ your little sisters in case we dropped off. An’ there I’ve went an’ made up all them underclo’s!” She leaned her head upon her hand and sat looking at the floor with a forlornly reminiscent expression. “An’ put tattin’ on three sets, an’ crochet lace on three, an’ serpentine edgin’ on three. An’ inserting on all of ’em! That ain’t the worst of it. I’ve _worked his initial in button-hole stitch_ on every blessed thing!” “Oh, maw, you never did that, did you?” “Yes, I did. An’ what’s more, I showed ’em all to old Miss Bradley, too.” “You might just as well of showed ’em to the whole town!” said poor Zarelda, bitterly. “They looked so nice I had to show ’em to somebody.”