“Why,” exclaimed her interlocutor, “I didn't know you were engaged.”
“Well, I'm not engaged. But I suppose I'll get engaged before I die. All girls do.”
But couldn't she persuade her husband to come and live in Beekman Place?
Well, that would depend a good deal upon what sort of a man he was. Most men wouldn't want to come so far out of the way. She knew, when she was at college, it used to take her pretty much all day going and coming, and cost a regular fortune in car-fares.
College? The Normal College?
Yes. Class of '82. Salutatory.
Indeed! That was a great honor.
“Well, may be it was; but I didn't care a cent for it. I wanted to be Valedictory. I worked hard for it, for four years; and when I didn't get it, you can't imagine how horribly bad I felt.”
“Oh, yes; I can understand. It must have been very hard.”
“Florence Rosenbaum got it. She, and I, and an American girl named Redwood, had been rivals ever since we were freshmen. Some years one would lead, and some years another. But at the finish, Rosenbaum came in first, and Redwood third, and I second. I'd just as soon have come in last.”—Tillie paused; appeared puzzled; finally demanded, “Why, what you looking so queer about?”