“I hope Carrie Cora doesn’t mind being left alone in the apartment,” she said.
“Oh, Lor’, no,” Mrs. Burrell replied. “I’ve never seen anyone like her. She just loves to be alone. She’s always been queer about that, and lately she’s been queerer than ever. She don’t seem to take an interest in anything. Now, last night, she’d never have gone with us but for you. She hates parties; but she thinks everything of you.” Mrs. Burrell drew nearer Helen. “She’s in love,” she whispered.
Helen smiled. “There isn’t any great harm in that.”
“There wouldn’t be,” Mrs. Burrell agreed, “if the young man belonged to her station in life. But he don’t. He ain’t got a cent to his name.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. But isn’t there anything else against him?—besides his being poor, I mean.”
“Oh, I guess he’s good enough,” Mrs. Burrell acknowledged, grudgingly. “I never heard anything against him. His name is Rufus James,” she added, as if this fact in some way explained his condition. “He’s here in Washington now.” Her lips tightened as she looked at Helen with an expression that said: “Think of that!”
As Helen said nothing, Mrs. Burrell went on: “Of course, he come just because she was here.”
“He must be very fond of her,” Helen ventured to remark. “But I don’t wonder; Carrie Cora is a very fine girl.”
“She is a fine girl. I declare to goodness I wish she wouldn’t keep her light under a bushel. She does make me so mad! She could have gone to the best teachers down to Boston or anywhere. Father even offered to send her to Europe. She said she’d rather stay at home and do housework. She’s a splendid housekeeper. I sometimes think that’s what Rufus James wants to marry her for.”
“Well, that’s a great compliment to Carrie Cora,” Helen laughed. “It seems to me a pretty good reason for marrying, too.”