"Bless her!" he said to himself as he jumped into his gig. "She never apologises for the shop—never speaks as if it were something beneath her. My God, what a snob I am!"
As soon as he was gone, Mona raised the hand he had shaken, and looked at it deliberately. Then she took a few turns up and down the shop. "I never mean to marry," she said very slowly to herself, "and I don't suppose I shall ever know what it is to be in love; but it would be a fine test of a man's sincerity to see whether he would be willing to take me simply and solely as I am now—as Rachel Simpson's assistant."
The next day was Sunday, and Rachel was so much better that she insisted on Mona's going to church.
"Folk will be thinking it is something catching," she said, "and by the time I'm down-stairs again, there'll be nobody in the shop to talk to."
It was a bright, crisp morning, but Mona found the service rather a barren one.
"I suppose the doctor has been here," she said with marked indifference, when she re-entered Rachel's room.
"Yes; and very pleased he was to find me so well. He says I'm to get up to tea to-day, and go out for ten minutes to-morrow, if all's well. He is very busy, and he's not to come back unless we send for him. He's not one of them that tries how many visits they can put in."
"No," said Mona drearily, and then she roused herself with an effort. "I am so glad you are better, dear," she said. "Mr Stuart is coming to see you to-morrow afternoon."