She hesitated, and pulled off her glasses. "Sometimes I can't see so well through these things!" she confessed. She signed her name on the check, blotted it, and replaced her glasses.
I took the check, thanked her, and gave her the opening she was obviously hoping for by saying, "Well, what did you dream about last night?"
"Oh, I dreamed I was peeling potatoes, wearing an apron, and there was a baby crying."
"And what do you think that dream signifies?" I asked, wondering if she could still be blind to the meaning of her dreams.
"According to Eimo, it means I must beware of a train accident," she said absently. "But that isn't what--I mean--"
"Something has happened," I broke into her confusion. "Tell me about it."
"Well . . ." Miss Nestleburt looked around to be sure there were no eavesdroppers. She leaned her plump little body partially across the desk. "Mr. Hawkins has proposed!"
She clasped her tiny white hands in joyous anticipation of my reaction.
"No!" I exclaimed. "When? How did he lead up to it? Are you going to accept him?"
"Je ne sais pas! It was last night. I--I really don't know if I will or not. Do you think I should?"