New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Short stories, American
As the picture of this scene rose before the eyes of the young bride she
smiled again. She knew now what she had guessed then--that she was the
important business that was bringing the senior partner of Blackstock,
Rawlings & Cameron to Norwich. When he came up the next Saturday and had
made the acquaintance of her father and mother she began to think that
perhaps he was really interested in her. She spent the next twenty-four
hours in a strange dream of ecstasy; and when he walked home with her
after the evening service she knew that she had found her fate most
unexpectedly. As they neared her father's door he had asked her if she
were willing to trust her future to him, and she had answered solemnly
that she was his whenever he might choose to claim her.
Although she had said this, she was taken aback when he had wished her
to be married early in September. She had had to beg to have the wedding
postponed till the end of October, assuring him that she could not be
ready before then. Now, as she sat there rocking silently in the
sitting-room of his house in New York, with a smile of happiness curving
her lips, and as she recalled the swiftness of time's flight during the
few weeks of her engagement, she did not regret that his neglected
business would keep him in town all winter and that the promised trip to
Europe was postponed until next summer. They had gone on their brief
wedding journey to Niagara and Montreal and Quebec; and they had
returned only the day before. Last night for the first time had she sat
at the head of his table as the mistress of his house. For the first
time that morning had she poured out his coffee in their future home,
smiling at him across the broad table in the dingy dining-room with its
black horsehair chairs.
Then he had sent for a cab, and he had insisted on her coming down to
the office with him. It was the first time that she had seen the immense
building occupied by Blackstock, Rawlings & Cameron, with the
packing-cases piled high on the sidewalk and with half a dozen drays
unloading the goods just received from Europe. Although two or three of
the clerks were looking at him when he got out of the cab, he had kissed
her; and although she supposed she must have blushed, she did not really
object. She was John's wife now, and it did not matter who knew it. He
had called to the driver to come back so that he might tell her to stop
anywhere she pleased on her way up-town and to buy anything she fancied.
She had come straight home without buying anything, for, of course, she
was not going to waste John's money.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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