“Oh,” she said despondently, “if you are going to be noble, too, there’s no use discussing the matter. What an example we shall be for the heathen nations! You will be noble and give up Dick Morton; I shall be noble and marry him; and be noble at the same time in giving up Tom; Tom will be noble in suffering me to marry anybody but himself; Dick will be noble in obliging my father and marrying me instead of you; Laura is always noble! We could use up a whole order of nobility among us! And it is all so silly! Do you suppose my dear father would want four of us to be unhappy, his own daughter among them? It’s really only Laura who matters, and if you had any ingenuity you could pacify her and persuade her that it is my duty for once to follow my ignoble inclinations. I am afraid of her, but you needn’t be! You could blaze and flash and tower, if you only would, and save us all!”
“You seem to forget,” I urged, “that Mr. Morton has never asked me to marry him.”
“That’s nothing; he has probably been thinking how he could get me nicely disposed of, or how he could earn a roof under which he could ask you to step in wet weather. He’s been too stupid and moody and dull this last winter for any use, and now I understand him. Has he ever seen you like this with your Rebecca-at-the-well hair down?”
“Certainly not!”
“I thought so; or he’d have forgotten the necessary roof!—Come in!—Goodness! it’s your room and I locked the door! Do excuse me; I’ll open it. A telegram for you.—Wait outside for an answer, Jimmy.”
I tore open the envelope, confidently expecting that Cousin Sarah had been struck with paralysis; instead of which I read:
Archville, Pennsylvania,
June 16
Have this moment secured a large and important contract assuring two years’ lucrative work. May I come to see you immediately? Name earliest day.
R. M.