“Well, Stasy?” she said, as if expecting her sister to continue speaking.
But Stasy hesitated.
“What has all this to do with your inspiration?” said Blanche.
“I’m half afraid of telling you,” said Stasy. “You’re rather snubby too, to-night, Blanche, in your manner, somehow.”
“I don’t mean to be,” said Blanche gently. “Do tell me all about it.”
“Well, you see,” began Stasy, “it just came into my head with a flash. Supposing we were to join Miss Halliday, and be milliners in real earnest. Of course it would be more you than I. I should still have to go on doing some lessons. But I could help a good deal, and we could have the same rooms in her house that we had before. We were very comfortable there. It would be better than going away to some horrid, strange place, into stuffy lodgings, where mamma would be miserable.”
“You didn’t say anything of this to Miss Halliday, did you?” inquired Blanche.
“Oh no,” said Stasy; “of course not. But do tell me what you think of it, Blanche.”
Blanche sighed.
“It is almost impossible to say all at once,” she answered. “It is rather difficult to take it in—the idea of our really having to work for our daily bread, to be actually shopkeepers.”