“You dear! You dear! You utter dear!”
Laura laughed and left her.
When she came back she was radiant.
“What did I tell you? Of course he will! I told you so! I knew he would! He said—why ever didn’t you tell him? He never took it in that you really wanted it. He says he’ll write tonight. What did I tell you? He says he’d better write privately to Mr. Wilbraham, instead of just giving you a bearer note. He was perfectly sweet. I knew he would be. Now will you own you’re wrong?”
Coral, in her gratitude, would have owned anything.
Laura ran on.
“Yes, and we can’t go out after all, because he’s just heard about that cabinet. You know—the one he ordered for the new eggs. It may arrive today, and he’s got to superintend them carrying it up if it comes. I’m rather glad. The woods are sopping and I know I’ve a cold coming on. So I’ll be able to see you off. Have you looked up trains? Does Mrs. Cloud approve? You will let us know at once, won’t you? Justin said he’d write most floriferously. I knew he’d be nice. He didn’t expect the cabinet this week. He’s as excited as you are.”
Laura was excited herself—pardonably triumphant. It was a solution for so much. The difficulties with Timothy—Mrs. Cloud—(Coral, though she were fond of her, had been, she could guess, a strain upon Mrs. Cloud) Justin’s own discomfort—Coral’s unrest—all had been dispelled by Justin. Justin might have his ways, but underneath those ways what a truly satisfactory Justin he was! She could not help rubbing it in as she drove Coral to the station. She hoped Coral was properly confounded—Coral, with her strictures and criticisms and her knowledge of men.
She said good-bye to her with relief and regret and triumph. Her cold was worse the next day, and on the next she was in bed. It was the beginning of the week before she was about again. It was the middle of the week before she found a letter on her breakfast plate.
She did not know the handwriting, but the deep lavender of the paper and the cheap ink had a familiar look, were in affinity with the lace blouses and the scent and the ear-rings to which she had grown accustomed. She did not even glance at the signature, so sure was she that the letter was from Coral.