“Take me! I should think not! I wouldn’t be hired to leave my own place and go off like a charity case among a lot of rich people who looked down on me because I was poor. I’ve got too much self-respect to jump at an invitation, like a pickerel at a frog. But there! You never think twice about things.”
“Suppose I did refuse. You’d fly out at me for not making the most of my chances,” said poor Lena, on the verge of tears.
Mrs. Quincy was temporarily silenced by the truth of this reply, and Lena pursued her advantage.
“Come now, mother, do you want me to get out of it?”
“Oh, I suppose you’ll have to go, or I won’t have no peace to my life,” Mrs. Quincy grudgingly responded.
“Yes, you shall. If you say so, I’ll give it up now and never say another word about it.”
“And act injured to death,” said her mother. “No, you go!”
“After you’ve done everything you can to spoil it for me,” answered Lena, not half realizing how well she spoke the truth, and how both by inheritance and by precept her mother had trailed the serpent over her life. To Lena, fortune and misfortune were still things of outward import, and almost synonymous with possession and non-possession. Yet, in spite of Mrs. Quincy’s dour looks, Lena found herself singing as she moved swiftly about the room. Spontaneous joy was a rare thing with her. The first peep into the delectable world was entrancing.