“Oh, sir, no, indeed—that is, I cannot really be sure of his intentions toward either; he’s so very charming to both of us we cannot decide between us which he prefers yet—but he does not seem like a flirt!”
“Amanda Tuttle, don’t be an old fool! How do you suppose any young man could hesitate between an old woman like you and pretty Leola?” he replied, brusquely.
“Sir!” Miss Tuttle bridled, and tears came into her eyes.
“Well, well, I spoke roughly, but you should not be so silly,” returned her employer. “Remember you were not very pretty when you first came here, and fifteen years has changed you into a faded old maid.”
“I—I—hate you!” she sobbed, pitifully.
“Hard words break no bones,” he said, carelessly.
“If you will pay me my salary I’ll leave Wheatlands forever!” she sobbed, bitterly, in her humiliation; but he went on, coolly:
“No, I don’t want you to leave; I really need your services, Miss Tuttle. But as to whether you ever get that money I owe you depends on your own exertions. I’ve lost everything, and unless Leola makes a rich marriage I’ve planned for her, I will not have a roof over my head this day month.”
Miss Tuttle mopped her wet eyes with a little lace-edged handkerchief, and straightened up, full of breathless curiosity.
“Oh, who is he?” she exclaimed; and thereupon he suddenly confided his difficulties freely to her, hopeful of her ready co-operation, but, being totally unversed in the intricacies of a woman’s heart, he made the mistake of his life.