“Pshaw,” said Mr. Wake, “that is too bad—Look here,” he said quickly, after a second’s pause, “I have some Italian friends who want a governess; I believe they are going to Viareggio for the hot months. Would she touch that?”
“She’d love it,” I answered quickly, “she’s wanted a post for ages, but it’s so hard to get one now, since every one’s so poor from the war—”
“And fancy the little Italian beggars saying, ‘My eye! How jolly,’” put in Sam.
Every one laughed. “Won’t hurt ’em,” said Mr. Wake easily, “for they won’t know it’s not top notch proper and the latest thing! I’ll talk to Lucca to-morrow, and after that I’ll let you know, Jane. Believe I can fix it—”
And he did.
I thought of him a lot going down. So much that Sam thought I felt badly from the heat. But the heat hadn’t made my depression. I had so wanted Miss Sheila and Mr. Wake to know and like each other. They were both lonely, and I loved them both and they seemed alike and suited to like each other in lots of ways. And I could tell that Mr. Wake needed Miss Sheila from the manner in which he had talked of her at the beginning of our friendship. And now it was all over; I could never present my dear friend to her, nor talk of my Fairy Godmother to him!
It did seem all wrong, but as Leslie and Viola both said, things turn out as one doesn’t expect them to.
I had hoped—of course it was silly—but I had hoped a lot. And now even my chance for hoping had disappeared.
“Are you sure,” asked Sam, “that the heat hasn’t done you up?”
“Sure,” I answered dully.