"What is it which makes you--all brimming over?"
Madge went red. She was an arrant little snob, and by no means proud of giving music lessons to a publican's daughter--although that publican's daughter was the best paying pupil she had, and not the least agreeable. She was on her stilts in a moment.
"I don't understand you."
"That's a story. Of course it's no business of mine. But you do seem so happy, and I think that sharing other people's happiness is almost as good as being happy yourself--don't you? But I'm awfully sorry I asked."
Miss Parkins' air of contrition melted Madge's mood. As she adjusted her veil, she condescended to explain.
"I have had rather a stroke of luck."
"I'm awfully glad to hear it. Of course I know you think nothing of me; but I think no end of you. I do hope that some one has left you a fortune."
"I like it as well as if some one had, though I daresay you'll think it's nothing. I've sold a book."
"A book? Oh!--one of your own writing? I knew you were clever. When is it coming out?"
"We've hardly got so far as dates."