The Copy-Cat, and Other StoriesFreeman, Mary Eleanor Wilkins
General
The Copy-Cat, and Other Stories
Freeman, Mary Eleanor Wilkins
New England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories
“You have never needed to ask,” said Annie. “You knew.”
“I haven't been so sure as you think,” said Tom. “Suppose you come over
here and sit beside me. You look miles away.”
Annie laughed and blushed, but she obeyed. She sat beside Tom and
let him put his arm around her. She sat up straight, by force of her
instinctive maidenliness, but she kissed him back when he kissed her.
“I haven't been so sure,” repeated Tom. “Annie darling, why have I been
unable to see more of you? I have fairly haunted your house, and seen
the whole lot of your sisters, especially Imogen, but somehow or other
you have been as slippery as an eel. I have always asked for you, but
you were always out or busy.”
“I have been very busy,” said Annie, evasively. She loved this young man
with all her heart, but she had an enduring loyalty to her own flesh and
blood.
Tom was very literal. “Say, Annie,” he blurted out, “I begin to think
you have had to do most of the work over there. Now, haven't you? Own
up.”
Annie laughed sweetly. She was so happy that no sense of injury could
possibly rankle within her. “Oh, well,” she said, lightly. “Perhaps. I
don't know. I guess housekeeping comes rather easier to me than to the
others. I like it, you know, and work is always easier when one likes
it. The other girls don't take to it so naturally, and they get very
tired, and it has seemed often that I was the one who could hurry the
work through and not mind.”
“I wonder if you will stick up for me the way you do for your sisters
when you are my wife?” said Tom, with a burst of love and admiration.
Then he added: “Of course you are going to be my wife, Annie? You know
what this means?”
“If you think I will make you as good a wife as you can find,” said
Annie.
“As good a wife! Annie, do you really know what you are?”
“Just an ordinary girl, with no special talent for anything.”
“You are the most wonderful girl that ever walked the earth,” exclaimed
Tom. “And as for talent, you have the best talent in the whole world;
you can love people who are not worthy to tie your shoestrings, and
think you are looking up when in reality you are looking down. That is
what I call the best talent in the whole world for a woman.” Tom Reed
was becoming almost subtle.
Annie only laughed happily again. “Well, you will have to wait and find
out,” said she.
“I suppose,” said Tom, “that you came over here because you were tired
out, this hot weather. I think you were sensible, but I don't think you
ought to be here alone.”
“I am not alone,” replied Annie. “I have poor little Effie Hempstead
with me.”
“That deaf-and-dumb child? I should think this heathen god would be
about as much company.”
“Why, Tom, she is human, if she is deaf and dumb.”
Tom eyed her shrewdly. “What did you mean when you said you had broken
your will?” he inquired.
“My will not to speak for a while,” said Annie, faintly.
“Not to speak--to any one?”
Annie nodded.
“Then you have broken your resolution by speaking to me?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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