“I live way down on East Eleventh Street,” she said, apologetically; “and I oughtn’t to let you go clear down there with me. But,—oh, well, I might as well own up,—I’d just love to roll up to our door in this car!”
“And so you shall,” said Mona, appreciating this bit of feminine vanity. “And, Mrs. Greene, if you’ll accept them, I’d like to make you a present of those furs. I don’t need them, for I have several other sets, and you’re very welcome to them.”
“My land!” said Mrs. Greene, and then could say no more, for her voice choked, and two tears rolled down her cheeks.
“And to think I thought you ladies were stuck up!” she said, in a voice of contrition. “Why, two angels straight from Heaven couldn’t be more kind or whole-soulder than you two are. But, Miss Galbraith, I can’t accept such a gift,—I—I ought not to.”
Mrs. Greene was caressing the fur as she spoke, and Mona patted her hand, saying laughingly:
“I couldn’t take it away from anybody who loves it as you do. Please keep it. I’m more glad to give it to you than you can possibly be to have it.”
So Mrs. Greene kept the furs,—and her beaming face proved the depth of thankfulness which she tried, all inadequately, to express.