“Oh, forgive me, Mr. W——, I had forgotten that I ever made that sketch. If I had only thought of it I would have taken it out of the portfolio. But I was in a hurry, and perhaps agitated in my mind, when I got it and brought it down to you. Please let me tear it up; it was a thoughtless sketch, taken on the moment.”
“I would not have it torn up on any account, Miss Hattie. It is perfect and truthful. I want to frame it, and hang it up where I can see it every day. It will teach me not to lose my temper, as I did that day, with an old and a faithful employee. Please sell it to me.”
“I will not sell it to you, Mr. W——, but if you attach any value to it, please keep it as a welcome gift.”
“I thank you, Miss Hattie—from my heart I thank you. I will strive to make you a suitable return in some way.”
“I need none, Mr. W——. Is this all you require of me?”
“All at present, Miss Hattie. There is something I would like to talk with you about, but I will put it off to a time when I can speak and you listen thoughtfully.”
Hattie bowed, and went out to her work, after folding up that mountain sketch.
“I wonder who that very dear friend can be who sent her that sketch,” muttered Mr. W——, after Hattie had gone. “How she blushed when she spoke of whence it came, and took it from my hand. Oh, I hope and pray her heart is not already gone. If it is, what have I to hope for? For I love her—madly love her. I must know if her heart is disengaged. I dare not trust myself to ask her; I should break down in the attempt. I’ll write to her. Yes, on paper I may be able to express my thoughts.”
And going out to Mr. Jones, he gave directions that he was not to be disturbed by any one, except on the most unavoidable business, for the next hour.
And then he sat down at his desk to try to write out his hopes and his wishes, not asking now, as he had once before, “What will the world say about it?”