“Yes, Mr. W——. I am at least independent now, so long as health and strength last, and, thanks to your generous increase of salary, I am laying up money which will keep me so, even should sickness reach me.”
“Heaven prevent that!” exclaimed Mr. W——. “I can but admire your independence, and rejoice, selfishly, that I am not to lose your valuable services at the bindery. But I know Mr. Legare will grieve at your decision. He said that if he had not children of his own he would adopt you himself.”
“I am grateful for his interest, and yours also, Mr. W——, while I decline the bright future you would make for me. By the way, Mr. W——, let me run up stairs to my room and get that portfolio of drawings, or, rather, pencil sketches, which Mr. Legare wished to see—that is, if it is not too much trouble for you to take them.”
“It is not a trouble, but a pleasure instead,” he said, and away she went.
“The dear creetur! Who’d think she’d refuse such a chance? Most any girl in the world would just snap at it,” said Miss Scrimp, determined to keep the “horrid man” interested while in her presence.
“She is superior to most of her sex,” said Mr. W——, with a sigh.
“That’s true as gospel,” said Miss Scrimp. And she sighed, just to keep him company, you know.
Hattie was gone but a few seconds. Flushed in color by her exercise—for she had run up and down stairs—her beauty seemed heightened when she returned, bearing a portfolio, with a clasp, and on it a monogram—the letters “G. E. L.”
“They are all in here, and when he has looked them over he can take any that he desires at his own price, and hand the rest back to you,” said Hattie, as she handed the portfolio to Mr. W——.
“And I hope to be allowed to purchase what he leaves, if indeed any,” said Mr. W——. “The drawing you made in his book was a pleasant surprise to me. I did not know we had such a talented artist in the bindery.”