“Enough is true to decide me. The man I marry must have a good name, if he hasn’t a dollar.”
“You won’t think about run—about any change right away?”
“No. I guess I can coax dad off—and Mr. Short—till school closes. I want my diploma.”
“Couldn’t you teach?”
“No, Billy, I’m not built that way; but I can scrub if necessary; and I will, before I’ll marry Alvin Short.”
Billy looked at her pretty hands, remembering what melodies they had drawn from the piano on the many evenings he and Erminie had sung together; and his anger rose again.
“We must go back. If dad knows I’ve been out with any one but Mr. Short, he’ll be mad.”
“But I’m just a boy.”
The bitterness in his tone did not escape her. “Don’t fret. You’re plenty big enough and old enough to make dad mad, and Alvin Short jealous.”
She rose and looked into his face as he stood beside her, head and shoulders taller. She could no more help saying and looking the pleasant, flattering thing to those she cared for than she could help breathing. It was part of her charm. She was always looking more than she meant, too, and having to use all her art to escape the results.