“That is because you had never seen stylish men before you came to New York,” said Marion, quickly; “I find myself comparing every one I ever met with Mr. Ray—city men are so handsome—and then they dress so much better.”
“Silas had on a flannel shirt and cowhide shoes,” went on Dollie, laughing, “and I never before believed that they could look so ugly! But listen, Marion, he says he has a mortgage for five hundred dollars on father’s farm, but that as he thinks I could save him that amount in time he is willing to let it go if I will marry him!”
“He expects you to earn it weeding gardens, milking cows and churning butter, I suppose,” said Marion scornfully.
“But, sister, just think! Where will father get the money? He can never, never pay Sile such an amount, and he’ll turn them out if he doesn’t get the money!”
“Turn them out of the old homestead!” exclaimed Marion, turning pale. “The thing is outrageous! He must never do it! Never!”
“Then I’ll have to marry him,” said Dollie, dolefully. “There’s no other way to settle the matter.”
“I’m not so sure,” said her sister, shutting her white teeth together. “There are nearly three months before the mortgage is due. I must think a little, Dollie; but hush! Here comes Miss Allyn!”
Miss Allyn came in, carrying the typewriter in her arms, and for the next hour the girls almost forgot their troubles.
“I’ll learn just as fast as I can,” said Dollie, clapping her hands.
“And I’ll do my best to get you a position,” said Miss Allyn, kindly, “but I warn you it will be with some old codger who has a red-headed wife to look after him! You shall not have any champagne luncheons and tete-a-tetes with your employer if I can prevent it!”