“I confess it’s a little dull in the winter time, and in all seasons it is situated a considerable distance from New York. Where do you intend to go, Dorothy?”
“That will depend largely on where my friend Kate advises me to go, because I shall take her with me if she will come.”
“Companion, lady’s-maid, parlor maid, maid-of-all-work, cook, governess, typewriter-girl—which have I to be? Shall I get one afternoon a week off, and may my young man come and see me, if I happen to secure one, and, extremely important, what are the wages?”
“You shall fix your own salary, Kate, and my lawyer men will arrange that the chosen sum is settled upon you so that if we fall out we can quarrel on equal terms.”
“Oh, I see, it’s an adopted daughter I am to be, then?”
“An adopted sister, rather.”
“Do you think I am going to take advantage of my friendship with an heiress, and so pension myself off?”
“It is I who am taking the advantage,” said Dorothy, “and I beg you to take compassion, rather than advantage, upon a lone creature who has no kith or kin in the world.”
“Do you really mean it, Dot?”
“Of course I do. Should I propose it if I didn’t?”