Imelda sighed as the form of Alice disappeared. Who would have thought, looking at the dainty figure, that in former years she had stood at the self-same counter where Imelda now presided. That she had wealth at her command was easy to be seen. But was she happy? If she was not she knew well how to hide it. No casual observer would have noticed anything wrong and when her carriage in the evening drove up to the number that Imelda had given her the pretty figure was robed in daintiest white. When Imelda appeared in the doorway in her plain black lawn and simple sailor hat she hesitated a moment. She knew she would look out of place at the side of this richly attired lady, and she would rather not go. But already Alice was calling to her to come. “For,” she said, “we want a good long evening together and we cannot afford to waste time.”
Imelda hesitated no longer. Why should she? Did the possession of wealth alone make Alice Westcot her superior? She told herself, No! They had been friends in the days of long ago, Imelda had found Alice a dear girl, sweet and pure and true, but for all that she knew that mentally this little woman was not her equal.
So she took her place at Alice’s side without further hesitation and they were soon whirling along toward one of the beautiful parks. Imelda gave herself up to the luxury of such delicious comfort, such sense of pleasure as seldom came to her. Alice chattered on at her side, telling her all about her life; telling her of the many bright spots it contained; of the beautiful home with its richly furnished rooms, its charming grounds and surroundings; of the husband who showered wealth upon her; of the two pretty blossoms—her little daughters, one dark eyed with glossy curls like the father and who was named Meta, while the youngest was fair and flaxen-haired like herself, and had been given the name of Norma.
Imelda listened like one in a dream. Was Alice’s life all sunshine? She made bold to ask her. For a moment the bright sunny face clouded, then a silvery laugh rippled from the ripe red lips.
“Why not? Certainly it is sunshine, all sunshine. Have I not everything my heart desires? No more hard work, no more eking out and economizing, no more planning how to make both ends meet. My husband’s purse is open to me always. I have nothing else to do but be happy.”
And then, not giving Imelda time to ask any more questions, she in turn began to question her. She poured such an avalanche of questions upon her that Imelda did not know which to answer first. So bewildering was the torrent that Alice was obliged to repeat them more slowly. Imelda answered them all to the satisfaction of the persistent questioner who gradually came in possession of all the dark facts that had brought so much pain into the young girl’s life and only at the close of the story did she understand that Imelda was all alone and her tender little heart swelled and two pearly drops fell upon the hands of the girl as she lifted them and pressed them to her cheeks.
“My poor, proud girl,” she said, “how you must have suffered! Listen, Imelda. How would you like to live with me? O, no!” she said as she looked into the surprised eyes of the girl, and read therein a refusal.
“I understand you too well to offer you a home without a way of earning it. I understand your proud nature better. But I would like someone trustworthy to take care of my little daughters. For really I am too much of a butterfly to have so grave a charge on my hands without some one more competent to aid me. I do not understand how to train my babies. But you, who have had so much experience, would know always what to do and they really are such dear little darlings. I am sure you would soon learn to love them and then you should be treated as just the lady that you are, not as a servant but as my own dear friend, and you should have so much time all your own when you might read or paint or study, and you shall cultivate that precious talent of yours, music. Say yes, dear, you shall never be sorry for it, I promise you,” and the little cajoler wound her arm about the neck of the dumb-founded girl and laid her face against hers and coaxed and kissed and plead until Imelda gave the so much desired promise. Then Alice was happy as a child and said that Imelda must leave the store instantly so she could prepare to go with her when she should return to her home.
“I expect to remain only a little over a week, and until then you shall come and live with me at the hotel where I am staying.” But to this Imelda would not listen. It was all so sudden she could hardly realize what it involved. A sharp pang entered her heart as she thought of Margaret and Wilbur. Ah, yes, it meant to give up these tried and trusted friends. No! oh no, she could not leave without devoting some of the last hours of her stay in the dear old city that had always been her home, to the friends whose lives were so closely woven in with hers. She finally succeeded in making Alice understand as much. In the morning when she told Margaret, it seemed at first as though she could not comprehend it. The large soft eyes filled with tears and the sensitive lips quivered when the comprehension came home to her, but she bravely choked a sob as she said:
“You are right. Why should you wear out your life, standing day after day behind the counter in that store, when opportunities are offered you that do not fall to the lot of every working girl. Yes, it is certainly my advice to accept this offer, and make the most of it. But I insist that you spend the evening with me at my mother’s home. We must make the most of your short stay with us.”