“Well, I guess you won’t object, will you? I’ve been wond’rin’ how you felt about it.”
“Oh, ma,” faltered the girl; “do you think, honest, he—— he——”
“Yes, I do,” replied her mother, laughing comfortably and blushing faintly. “I’m sure of it. An’ I’m happier ’n I ever was in my life over it. I don’t think I could give you a better stepfather, or one that would think more of you.”
Mariella stood up slowly behind the counter and looked—stared—across the room at her mother, in a dazed, uncomprehending way. The color ebbed slowly out of her face. She did not speak, but she felt the muscles about her mouth jerking. She pressed her lips more tightly together.
“I hope you don’t think I oughtn’t to marry again,” said her mother, returning her look without understanding it in the least. “Your pa’s been dead ten years”—this in an injured tone. “There ain’t many women—— Oh, good mornin’, Mr. Lester? Mariella, ’ll you wait on Mr. Lester? Well”—beaming good naturedly on her customer—“how’s real estate this mornin’? Any new sales afoot?”
“Are there?” repeated that gentleman, leaning on the show-case and lighting his cigar, innocent of intentional discourtesy. “Well, I should smile—and smile broadly too, Mrs. Mansfield. There’s a Minneapolis chap here that’s buyin’ right an’ left; just slashin’ things! He’s bought a lot o’ water-front property, too; an’ let me tell you, right now, that Jim Hill’s behind him; an’ Jim Hill’s the biggest railroad man in the U. S. to-day, an’ the Great Northern’s behind him!”
“Well, I hope so.” Mrs. Mansfield drew a long breath of delight. Mr. Lester smiled, shrugged his shoulders, spread out his hands, and sauntered out with the air of a man who has the ear of railroad kings.
“Are you goin’ to the canoe races to-night, Mariella?” began her mother, in a conciliatory tone.
“I don’t know. Might as well, I guess.”
The girl was wiping the shelf bottles now; her face was pale, but her back was to her mother.