His wife was indignant. “I might have known you would be ready with the cold water,” she declared. “Clara is—well, cranky, and particular and all that, but the opportunity is wonderful. The girl would travel and meet the best people—”
“She might remove their wraps, I admit.”
“Nonsense! And if Clara took a fancy to her she might leave her a good sum of money when she died.”
“Perhaps, providing the girl didn't die first. No, Gertrude, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I don't think much of your idea. Anyway, according to my belief, you're approaching this thing from the wrong end. It isn't the girl herself you should try to influence, but her uncles, or guardians, or whatever they are. If I know her, and I've been making some inquiries, she won't leave them. She will consider that they need her at the house and store and she'll stay. They are the ones to influence. If the matter of her welfare and future was put to them in the right light they might—well, they might sacrifice themselves to benefit her.”
“Rubbish! I know I'm right. She'll jump at the opportunity. I shall tell her about it this very afternoon.”
“She won't accept; I'll bet on it.”
His principal reason for non-belief in Mary-'Gusta's acceptance was his knowledge of his wife's lack of tact. The girl did not consider herself, nor was she, a subject of charity. And the position of combination friend and servant would not appeal to her. John Keith had an idea of his own concerning Mary-'Gusta, but it could wait until his wife's had failed.
It failed, of course, and Mrs. Keith, that evening, was indignant and angry.
“I never was so treated in my life,” she declared. “That girl didn't know her place at all. I'm through. I wash my hands of the whole matter.”
“Wasn't she polite?” inquired Keith.