He had noticed her quiet modesty in contrast with the boldness of other girls often before, but that very shrinking modesty had also kept her beauty in the background.
And that very afternoon he had taken occasion in person to look at her work, as her slim, tapering fingers gathered up missing pages and placed them where they belonged; and he asked her many questions, in a kinder tone than he was accustomed to use to his employees; for there was to him a very sweet music in the voice that answered his queries.
And when he went home that evening he was strangely absent-minded. When his Sister Flotie asked him if he would not get opera tickets and take her and Anna to hear “Lucia” on the Monday night following, he said:
“Yes, Miss Hattie—yes; with pleasure.”
“Hattie? Who is Hattie, brother, that you should use that name instead of Flotie, when you answer me?”
“Did I? I didn’t mean to; but I am full of Hattie some way. I went to write a letter to our paper manufacturer, and had got a dozen lines written, when I saw I had headed it, ‘Dear Hattie.’ There is a girl in the bindery of that name—a most remarkable girl. I will tell you all I know about her. She looks and acts like a princess in disguise.”
And then Mr. W—— gave a very highly colored description of our heroine and her acquirements.
“And you have let this prodigy of beauty and learning, of modesty and goodness, work for you for two years at little better than starvation wages? Coward! I’m ashamed of you, if you are my brother,” cried Flotie, warmly.
“Sis, don’t break out that way. We pay the usual rates. Were we to pay higher, we could not compete with other binderies and keep up.”
“But four dollars a week to pay board and washing, and dress with! Why, it wouldn’t keep me in gloves.”