“I think the head of the firm has earned the right to arrive late if she wishes to,” answered Mary Willing, glancing backward over her shoulder as she stood before the gas range. Her arms were bared to the elbows, for the waist she wore was made with short sleeves, in order to give her perfect freedom in her work. They were beautiful arms, strong, well-rounded and smooth as ivory.
“No, indeed, the head of the firm is a far cry from such indulgences, let me tell you. She has just heaps and loads to accomplish before she can arrive at such luxuries. But how goes the candy, Mary? Are you ready for me yet?”
“Not quite; but I shall be in just a few minutes. See, it is beginning to rope,” was the reply as the candy-maker lifted a spoonful of the boiling syrup and let it run back into the kettle, the last drop falling from the spoon quickly forming into little threads, which wavered in the hot air rising from the range.
“Better begin beating it now, and let me pop in the nuts; then we’ll pour it off,” answered Constance, her practiced eye quick to see that another moment’s boiling might undo a morning’s work.
“Well, you’re the boss! Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Constance, I didn’t mean that! I mean you’re—” and the girl paused in confusion, her face coloring a deeper red than the heat and her work had brought there.
“I’ll make believe I didn’t hear,” answered Constance, a softer light filling her eyes in place of the pained one which for a little instant had crept into them, as a cloud can cast a momentary shadow upon a wind-swept, shining October sea.
“You have to make believe so many times,” answered the girl, contritely, as she lifted the kettle from the range, and placing it upon the marble table, began to beat vigorously.
“Not nearly so often as I used to,” answered Constance, emptying into the kettle a great dish of walnuts. Mary again beat vigorously with her big spoon, shaking her head doubtfully the while. Constance did not look at her, but, arming herself with a large knife, guided the candy into the little grooves which would shape it as it was poured upon the table from the tilted kettle. One end of the table had been blocked out like a checkerboard, each inch square lined for cutting the candy accurately.
“Now watch me do my stunt,” she cried, standing with knife suspended over the fast chilling candy, and smiling up at the tall girl at her side.
“Do you forgive my—my—oh, the things I’m forever saying that must feel just like a file drawn over your teeth? If you only knew how hard it is to forget old ways and words and learn the better ones!”