She was about to say this aloud, when Lynn began to speak.
“Auntie dear,” she said, “let’s give it up!”
“Lynn! I am surprised!”
“Yes!” Lynn went on, with a sort of vehemence. “Let’s give this up and go away from here.”
“Lynn! Your boxes! The beautiful boxes you’ve painted!”
“I’d like,” said Lynn, “to see them all sailing down the river! Oh, auntie, do let’s go away! I hate this house and this place and—we’ll go back to Philadelphia, and I’ll take a position in an office, and—”
The girl stopped short at the sight of her aunt’s face.
“Oh, my dear!” she cried. “I didn’t really mean that! No—we’ll stay here, of course, and we’ll make a wonderful success of the shop.”
She sat on the arm of her aunt’s chair, and they talked with enthusiasm of their dazzling future; but they didn’t look at each other—not once. They talked, they even laughed, and after breakfast they went about busily preparing for customers; but all the time there lay over them the black shadow of this persecution. Why should any one wish them ill?
“I’d really be glad to go,” thought Mrs. Journay, “if it weren’t for Lynn; but I can’t and won’t have Lynn working in an office. I’ll make this—this disgusting shop a success!”