“They’re too busy with fancy work. Selina is working peonies all over the place. She’s got to use up that pound of silk.”
“I don’t know what you’ll do, then,” observed Berty, in an uninterested way, “unless,” with sudden vivacity, “you give me the coat for a poor person.”
“Not I—I can’t afford that. I’ll tell you, Berty, I ought to get a wife.”
“Why, so you should,” said the young girl, kindly. “It’s time you were getting settled. Have you any one in mind?”
“I know the kind of a girl I want,” said Tom, evasively. “I do wish you’d help me pick her out.”
Berty shook her head with sudden wariness. “I forgot, I’m not going to meddle with match-making any more. You’re sure to get a snub from the person you’re trying hardest to benefit.”
“I promise you that the girl I choose will never snub you,” said Tom, solemnly.
“There was Selina,” replied Berty, bitterly, “I just loved her, and thought her beautiful and stately like a picture, and far above Mr. Jimson, and now she says I’m a child—a child!”
“It’s too bad,” said Tom, sympathetically, “but Selina was always a little bit wrapped up in herself.”
“I had even got as far as the engagement-ring,” continued Berty. “I thought a red stone—a garnet or a ruby—would be less common than the diamond that everybody has.”