Love stories; Reducing diets -- Fiction; Widows -- Fiction
"Mrs. Carter," he said very kindly, in a voice that pitched me out of
the carriage window and left me a mile behind on the rails, all by
myself, "I wish I had known of your sad errand to town, so that I could
have offered you some assistance in your selection. You know we have
just had our family grave in the cemetery finally arranged, and I found
the dealers in memorial stones very confusing in their ideas and
designs. Mrs. Henderson just told my mother of your absence from home
last night, and I could only come up to town for the day on important
business or I would have arranged to see you. I hope you found something
that satisfied you."
What is a woman going to say when she has a tombstone thrown in her face
like that? I didn't say anything, but what I thought about Aunt Adeline
filled in a dreadful pause.
Perfectly dumb and quiet I sat for a space of time and wondered just
what I was going to do. It was beyond me at the moment, and the Molly
that is ready for life quick didn't know what to say. I shut my eyes,
counted three to myself as I do when I go over into the cold tub, and
then told him all about it. We both got a satisfactory reaction, and
I never enjoyed myself so much as that before.
I understand now why Judge Wade has had so many women martyr themselves
over him and live unhappily ever afterward, as everybody says Henrietta
Mason is doing. He's a very inspiring man, and he fairly bristles with
fascinations. Some men are what you call taking, and they take you if
they want you, while others are drawing, and after you are drawn to them
they will consider the question of taking you. The judge is like that.
In the meantime I feel that it will be good for his judgeship for me to
let him "draw" me at least a little way. I may get hurt, but I shall at
least have only myself to thank for it. When we reached home, the judge
stopped under the old lilac bush that leans over my side-gate and kissed
my hand. Old Lilac shook a laugh of perfume all over us, and I believe
signalled the event with the top of his bough to the white clump on the
other side of the garden. I'm glad Aunt Adeline isn't in the flower
fraternity. Suppose she had seen or heard!
And it didn't take many minutes for me to slip into old
summer-before-last--also for the last time inside of those buttons--and
run through the garden, my heart singing, "Billy, Billy," in a perfect
rapture of tune. I ran past the surgery door and found him in his cot
almost asleep, and we had a bear reunion in the wicker chair by the
window that made us both breathless.
"What did you bring me, Molly?" he finally kissed under my right ear.
"A real cricket-ball and bat, lover, and an engine with five carriages,
a rake and a spade and a hoe, two guns that pop a new way, and something
that squirts water, and some other things. Will that be enough?" I
hugged him up anxiously, for sometimes he is hard to please, and I might
not have got the very thing he wanted.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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