At that she threw up her head, her hands dropped. She said proudly:
“Did you think I’d go on Christmas Day? Did you think I’d have the heart to go, Mr. Dale?”
“Yes,” I said wearily, “I thought you had gone, Wanza. Why not?”
“And I’ll tell you why not! It’s because you decided Joey was to go that I could not go. I could not go and leave you when I found Joey was to go—oh, no!”
“But you must go some day, Wanza,” I said, scarce knowing what I said.
“And why must I go some day? Why must I? I tell you what I’m going to do, Mr. David Dale, I’m going to stay on here in Roselake, and I am going to live up to the very best there is in me. I am going to improve and grow big and fine and womanly. I’m going to do it right here. And then maybe some day,” she sighed, “when Dad does not need me any more, and you do not need me any more, I will have enough money saved up, and I will go away and get educated.”
In her excitement she had pressed closer to me and laid one hand against my chest. I placed my own hand over it as I said very gently:
“Let me teach you, Wanza—be my pupil. I will become your tutor in earnest, if you will have me. Yes! I will go to your father’s house every day to instruct you,—and it will give me great happiness. Ah, Wanza, now that Joey has gone I feel so futile—so useless! Let me undertake your education, child.”
The burning eyes came up to mine, and questioned them. The pale face flushed. There was a pathetic tremulousness about the lips.
“Say yes,” I urged.