"I have about decided to give it up. Perhaps it is my duty to stay."
Granny scanned the face eagerly, but found there no cheerful and sweet self-denial.
"I've been thinking it over"—her voice broken and quavering. "Perhaps it will be best. Though I don't like to part with you, for your poor father"—and Granny's inconsequent speech ended in tears.
"I'll stay home then, and do what I can; only it seems as if there were so many of us,—and the place so little, and I can't help being different, and liking music and education, and a nice orderly house"—
"No, you can't help it. Poor Joe—your father I mean—liked 'em all too. I've sometimes thought that maybe, if he'd gone away, he might have been a gentleman. He'd a master voice to sing. And God will watch over you there, and not let you come to harm. Oh, dear!"
Granny covered her face with her apron, and cried softly.
Mr. Howard called that evening. He had been quite favorably impressed with Mrs. Osgood's proposal.
"Her connections are all reputable people," he said; "and I think she means to treat Florence like a daughter. She can give her many advantages, and she is strongly attached to her already. But she is exclusive and aristocratic. She wants Florence all to herself. Still, she has made one concession: she will allow her to write home once a year."
"And then I could tell you every thing!" exclaimed Florence overjoyed.