CHAPTER X
I WAS discussing plans with Florence in her sanctum one afternoon, when she said to me:
“Uriel, you're a hummer. We can't get along without you. The advertising has doubled, and it's due mostly to your efforts. Please consider yourself married to this paper, and with no chance of divorce. I'll treble your salary.”
“I couldn't help doing well with such a paper to work for,” I said. “There's no credit due me.”
“I don't agree with you. Of course, we've made a good paper. I thought it was about time that the women, who did most of the work, had a voice in the government of the village. Women have some rights, and I think I've a right to know whether you still care for me or not.”
“Florence, I love you more than ever,” I said. I rose and stepped toward her, my face burning; and she quickly opened the gate of the railing, went behind it, and held me back with her hand.
“Havelock, you stupid thing!” said she. “What I want now is eloquence—real, Websterian eloquence, and plenty of it.”
I stood like a fool, blushing to the roots of my hair, and she took pity on me.
“Bear in mind,” said she, “that I am not the least bit grateful. I just naturally love you, sir; that's the truth about it.” Then my tongue was loosed. I do not remember what I said, but it was satisfactory to her, and right in the midst of it she unlocked the gate.
