“By the way, have you settled on anything to do yet? It’s time you began to think about it, unless you decide to take a Post Grad. course and be with me next year. That would be perfectly grand, wouldn’t it?”
Madeleine’s small pretty hands paused an instant in their busy fluttering over the garments she was sprinkling, and she smiled so sweetly upon Judith that the black-browed young woman felt moved beyond the power of speech and could only smile silently in reply.
Oh, heavens, it was good to have a friend! Madeleine had come at a time when she most needed her; when the whole world was nothing but a black, hideous picture and life was a dreary waste. Not her mother, not Richard, not Cousin Edwin, could take the place of Madeleine.
“You know I always said I wouldn’t work for a living, Madeleine,” she answered presently, gulping down these new, strange emotions.
“My dear, we all say such things, but it’s only talk. And, after all, it’s better to work than to be an object of charity. Think of making your own money; having it come in every month—say a hundred dollars, or even more—earned by you? Why, it’s glorious. It’s better than running across a gold mine by accident or inheriting a fortune, because you have done it yourself. I intend to earn a great deal of money. I shall rise from being a teacher to having a splendid school of my own. It will be the most fashionable school in the South and all the finest families will send their daughters there. And what will you be in my school, Judith? Because you must commence now to work up to that eminence. Will you be part owner with me?”
Judith laughed.
“You’re an absurd, adorable, sweet child,” she said, and went on ironing busily.
After all, life was not so desperately unpleasant.
There was a knock on the door. Judith put down the iron hastily and retreated to the window. She had not yet reached the point where she was willing for others to see her engaged in this menial work.
“Come in,” called Madeleine, without stopping an instant.