For, in those long years, she had won the love of every one who knew her, Miss Scrimp alone excepted.
That “old barnacle” (I got that idea from Roger Starbuck) couldn’t love anything but money and—her wretched old self.
Miss Scrimp got no gold ring, but she got her bill in full, and a week over, as Hattie had run one day into another week, or rather would begin by taking breakfast in the morning.
After this scene was over, Hattie went up to her room, got out her well-worn writing-desk, and wrote several notes, which we can judge of when one is taken as a specimen.
That one was addressed to Miss Lizzie Legare. It ran thus:
“Dear and Kind Friend:—You know there has been ever something mysterious about me—not wrong, yet a something which I could not fully explain. In another note I have invited your father, brother, aunt, and Little Jessie, all to visit me at my home, No. — Beacon street, Boston, on the seventh day from to-day, at four in the afternoon, to remain there as a guest that night and as long as you will. Darling, I have written at length to you—to the others, extended only an invitation. Mr. Edward W——, his sisters and parents, will also be there, and a gentleman whom you have never seen. Come, darling, come.
“Lovingly,
“Georgiana E. Lonsdale, nee ‘Hattie Butler.’”
Hattie—or, shall we call her Georgiana after this—was on her way to Boston when those notes went out to their several destinations, carrying wonder and surprise to each recipient. Even Captain Smith got one, in which he was told to bring his whole family, and Mr. Jones was not forgotten, nor the little woman and baby.
In the Legare house there was wonder and joy in all but one heart.