“Not for a year; not for a whole year. He's absurdly proud because he's poor, and he wants to make sure that he can earn more than his teacher's salary. Not for a whole year.”
“You and him are planning to get married?”
“I wasn't sure till this afternoon,” Rose whispered. She put her arms around Sylvia, and tried to nestle against her flat bosom with a cuddling movement of her head, like a baby. “I wasn't sure,” she whispered, “but he—told me, and—now I am sure.”
Then Rose wept a little, softly, against Sylvia's thin breast. Sylvia stood like a stone. “Haven't you had all you wanted here?” she asked.
“Oh, Aunt Sylvia, you know I have. You've been so good to me.”
“I had got my plans made to put in a bath-room,” said Sylvia. “I've got the carpenters engaged, and the plumber. They are going to begin next week.”
“You've been as good as can be to me, Aunt Sylvia.”
“And I'm on the lookout for a carriage and horse you can drive, and I've been planning to have some parties for you. I've tried to think of everything that would make you feel happy and contented and at home.”
“Oh, you have; I know you have, dear Aunt Sylvia,” murmured Rose.
“I have done all I knew how,” repeated Sylvia, in a stony fashion. She put the girl gently away and turned to go, but Rose caught her arm.