Governesses -- Fiction; Love stories; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Working class women -- Fiction
* * * * *
Martha was still busy wrestling with the pyramid of dishes left over
from the feast, when at last Claire came in alone.
"Did you get a chance to compose yourself, an' quiet down some under the
stars?" inquired Mrs. Slawson. "It's been a noisy day, with lots doin'.
I don't wonder you're so tired--your cheeks is fairly blazin' with it,
an' your eyes are shinin' like lit lamps."
"You knew--you knew he was here!" said Claire accusingly.
"_He?_ Who? O, you mean Mr. Ronald? Didn't I think to tell you, he come
up along with Mr. Blennerhasset? I been so flustrated with all the
unexpected surprises of the day, it musta slipped my mind."
"I've seen Mr. Ronald!" Claire said." I've spoken with him!"
"Now, what do you think o' that! Wonders never cease!"
"Do you know what I did?"
"Search me!"
"I told him--the _truth_."
"We-ell?"
"And--_I'm going to marry him!"_
Mrs. Slawson sat down hard upon the nearest chair, as if the happy shock
had deprived her of strength to support her own weight.
"No!" she fairly shouted.
"_Yes!" _cried Claire. "And, O, Martha! I'm _so_ happy! And--did you ever
_dream_ such a thing could possibly happen?"
"Well, you certaintly have give me a start. I often thought how I'd
_like_ to see Mr. Ronald your _financiay_ or your _trosso_, or whatever
they call it. But, that it would really come to pass--" She paused.
"O, you don't know how I dreaded next winter," Claire said, as if she
were thinking aloud. "I went over it--and I went over it, in my
mind--what I'd do--where I'd go--and now--_Now!_... I couldn't take that
fine job you had your eye on for me, not even if it had come to
something. Don't you remember? I mean, the splendid job you had the idea
about, that first night I was sick. I shan't need it now, shall I,
Martha?"
"You got it!" said Martha.
Claire's wide eyes opened wider in wonderment. She stared silently at
Mrs. Slawson for a moment. Then the light began to break in upon her
slowly, but with unmistakable illumination.
"You--don't--mean?" she stammered.
"Certaintly!" said Martha.
THE END
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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