“I’m going your way,” said the embroiderer smoothly, and she kept close to Fair’s side, quite indifferent as to whether her company was desired or not. She had an object in view, from which she was not to be easily deterred. But Fair had no particular cause of dislike against the girl, and, after a moment’s silent vexation, responded with careless politeness to the overtures of the other. “I hope you don’t bear me any grudge for the foolish things I said to-day?” she began. “I was only joking. I saw that the girls were teasing you, and joined in just for fun. But I would have bitten my tongue off before I’d said anything, if I had known how that forewoman was going to reprove you. What business was it of hers, anyway, whether you chose to marry a poor man or not?”
“Oh, I guess what she said was true enough,” Fair answered, not caring to discuss her grievance with this stranger; but the embroiderer persevered:
“No, it was not true—at least, not all of it. How scornfully she spoke of factory girls! Yet I know two rich ladies to-day who were simple working girls like you and me. They were beautiful, and their faces won rich husbands for them, as yours ought to do, for you have a lovely face. Do you know that, Fairfax Fielding?”
Fair’s mother had told her that she was beautiful so often that she could not profess ignorance of that interesting fact, but she blushed rosily at the blunt words of Miss Platt, who continued, without waiting for a reply:
“I could marry a rich man myself, if I chose. I had the chance once, but I refused it, for I did not love the man; but I believe that I could whistle him back even now if I chose. I’ve a great mind to do it, just to show that upstart forewoman that a rich man would marry a factory girl.”
“Oh, I wish you would, Miss Platt!” cried Fair, with such vehemence that she betrayed at once her latent resentment at the forewoman’s words.
The blonde laughed merrily; then exclaimed:
“Ah, Fair, you will marry rich some day, and show her how mistaken she was—I see that now.”
“I shall never marry,” Fair answered; but the embroiderer only laughed more gayly than before, and exclaimed:
“You must, if only to get your revenge on that insolent woman. Oh, I saw what lay at the bottom of her talk! It was spite at your mother, who was born a lady, and of whom she was, therefore, jealous. Come, I’ve a mind to turn matchmaker, just to help you out. Why, Fair, I know a rich young man who is called a kind of crank because he despises fashion and society and vows he will marry a working girl. I believe I will introduce him to you. May I?” And with that speech, she forged the first link in the chain of a cruel plot that she had been revolving in her mind for several hours. “May I?” she repeated, looking eagerly into Fair’s sweet, wild-rose face; but a troubled light came into the bright brown eyes, and the girl shook her head decidedly.