Love stories; Reducing diets -- Fiction; Widows -- Fiction
"Now, Mrs. Molly, truly did you ever see such a flower as she is?" he
demanded after I had expressed more than a dozen delighted opinions
of Miss Clinton. His use of the word "flower" riled me, and before I
stopped to think, I said, "She reminds me more of a scarlet runner."
"Now, Molly, don't be jealous just because old Wade has taken her out
driving behind the greys after kissing your hand under the lilacs
yesterday, which, fortunately, nobody saw but little me! I'm not sore,
why should you be? Aren't you happy with me?"
I withered him with a look, or rather _tried_ to wither him, for Tom
is no mimosa bud.
"The way that girl has managed to wake up this little old town is a
marvel," he continued enthusiastically. "Let's don't let the folks know
that they are off until I get everybody in a full swing of buzz over my
queen." I had never seen Tom so enthusiastic over a girl before, and I
didn't like it. But I decided not to let him know that, but to get to
work putting out the Clinton blaze in him and starting one on my own
account.
"That's just what I'm thinking about, Tom," I said with a smile that was
as sweet as I could make it, "and as she came with messages to me from
one of my best old friends I think I ought to do something to make her
have a good time. I was just planning a gorgeous dinner-party I want to
have for her when you came so suddenly. Do you think we could arrange it
for Tuesday evening?"
"Good gracious, Molly, don't knock the town down like that! Let 'em have
more than a week to get used to this white rag of a dress you've been
waving in their faces for the last few days. Go slow!"
"I've been going so slow for so many years that I've turned round and
I'm going fast backward," I said with a blush that I couldn't help.
"Help! Let my kinship protect me!" exclaimed Tom in alarm, and he
pretended to move an inch away from me.
"Yes," I said slowly, and as I looked out of the corner of my eyes from
under the lashes that Tom himself had once told me were "too long and
black to be tidy," I saw that he was in a condition to get the full
shock. "If anybody wakes up this town it will be I," I said as I flung
down the gauntlet with a high head.
"Here, Molly, here are the keys of my office, and the spark-plug to the
car; you can cut off a lock of my hair, and if Jane has got a cake I'll
eat it out of your hands. Shall it be Switzerland or Japan? And I prefer
_my_ bride served in light grey tweed." Tom really is delightful. Then
we both laughed and began to plan what Tom called a conflagration. But
I kept that delicious rose-embroidered treasure all to myself. I wanted
him to meet it entirely unprepared.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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