“You are pretty enough to marry a king, my darling, and you would be a little fool if you threw away all your chances by marrying a poor man,” she had said often; and, as if to make her advice more impressive, she would add: “Besides, what would become of me if you married a poor man? He would not want to take care of me, and you would be so busy caring for his house and minding his children you would have to desert your poor old mother.”
Little Fair shed tears at the thought of deserting her helpless mother.
“I shall always work for you and live with you, dear mother,” she said, adding, as a clincher: “I shall never marry any one.”
“Do not say that, my little Fair, for I should not like to have you live an old maid. I live in hopes that by a fortunate marriage you may some day be raised to the position in life that I once occupied,” answered the ambitious mother.
And it became tacitly understood between them that Fair was to marry no one unless he was rich; and, as she had no expectation of that, she had long ago made up her mind that she would be an old maid.
“Like that old crosspatch of a Miss Smith, who has worked in the factory thirty years, and hates the sight of a man,” the girl thought plaintively; but, in her devotion to her selfish mother, she vowed herself bravely to the sacrifice. Courtship, and love, and marriage such as her companions talked and dreamed of were not for her. Through her mother’s peculiar training, she had become quite worldly-wise.
The forewoman’s kindly meant advice only had the effect of making her indignant and resentful, although she was too politic to utter a word in reply, thus running the risk of losing the place by which she supported herself and her mother. She bowed her head in silence, and resentful tears coursed down her crimson cheeks.
Sadie Allen was a good-hearted girl, although fond of fun, and she regretted that her teasing remarks had led Fair on to the speech that provoked the forewoman’s displeasure and drew down upon her pretty head that stern reproof. There had been an innocent plot among the girls to tease Fair about Waverley Osborne, in order to aggravate Miss Platt; but Sadie was sorry for her share in it now, although she did not know what bitter cause there was yet to be to make her rue the occurrences of the past hour.
Fair’s hot tears dropped silently a while upon her snowy work. Then she sewed on in rather sullen mood for the rest of the day, taking no notice of her companions, and answering only in monosyllables when addressed; in fact, pouting like a spoiled child, and deaf to Sadie’s good-natured overtures. At five o’clock, the usual hour for leaving, she drew a sigh of relief as she put by her work.
“I’m glad I shall not see one of their hateful faces until to-morrow,” she muttered to herself, with the passion of a child, as she left the large building and turned her steps homeward through the crowded street. But suddenly a hand touched her arm, and, looking around with a start, she found Miss Platt by her side.