“Do you know, Tib,” she continued, “Mr. Van Silver was joking in the way that he always does about Stacey, when papa came to us; and papa said, ‘Don’t put such notions in my little girl’s head, Mr. Van Silver. Stacey has his college course before him and may be able to quote from my favourite poet when it is over.’ With that he took down an old volume of Praed and read something which is so cute that I copied it afterward. Here it is:
We parted; months and years rolled by;
We met again four summers after.
Our parting was all sob and sigh;
Our meeting was all mirth and laughter.
For in my heart’s most secret cell
There had been many other lodgers:
And she was not the ball-room’s belle
But only—Mrs. Something Rogers.
“I wonder whether I shall be Mrs. Rogers, or Mrs. Smith, or Mrs. What? I’d rather be just Miss Milly Roseveldt.”
“And how about Professor Waite?” I asked, hardly daring to believe that the fresh wind of common sense had cleared away the old miasmatic glamour.
“Oh, Adelaide must repent. They would make such a romantic couple. I have set my heart on it. And Tib, I believe she does like him, just a little, though she hasn’t found it out herself yet. I am going to take charge of their case, and some day you and I will be bridesmaids, Tib. I’ve planned just how it will be. It’s a pity Celeste acted so. Do you really think Miss Billings will be equal to a wedding dress?”
“What, yours, Milly?”
“Mine? No, indeed. I don’t want to be married. It’s a great deal nicer not to be. Don’t you think so?”
“Milly, darling, I really believe that you have recovered from that old folly.”
“Why, of course I have—ages and centuries ago.” And Milly laughed a wholesome, gay-hearted laugh, which astonished as much as it pleased me.
“Alas for woman’s constancy,” I laughed; “but, indeed, Milly, I am very glad that you are so thoroughly heart-whole. We will keep a jolly old maids’ hall together, only you must not encourage poor Stacey.”