“It’s all right. Don’t go, Archie. I want you to meet Miss Berwick. Miss Berwick, Mr. Charter—the other member of the firm. Miss Berwick’s going to take Miss O’Dowd’s place, you remember, Archie?”
“Very much more than that, I think,” said Mr. Charter, smiling. And though there was something in the cool appraisal of his manner, in the implied familiar compliment and criticism of his words, which made me flush with displeasure, yet when I met his mirthful, amused regard, I could not but smile in answer.
There was a little more talk, and I went out, leaving my address with Mr. Hennen. There was an agreeable sense of buoyancy and exhilaration in the air. I could not fix my mind upon the gloomy fact that I was to be without employment and without salary for two months; I was only very sure that I should like the work in the office of Hennen & Charter, when I was admitted to it. Meantime, I had a hazy recollection of all sorts of tempting advertisements which I had seen in the papers, asking for the services of just such able-bodied, well-educated young women as myself. To be an adventurer in industry for two months might be amusing; it might be profitable. And at the end of it there was the office of Hennen & Charter glowing like a comfortable beacon for me.
It was fortunate for my peace of mind that I could not forecast the future, and had no premonition of my initial experience as a laboring person. I was profoundly convinced of my ability to “take care of myself”; I had a high respect for my own judgment. Had anyone suggested to me that my arrogant self-confidence would nearly land me in court and almost cover me with notoriety, I should have dismissed the suggestion with a laugh.
THE TWO RAPTURES
TWO raptures are there; one is of the spring;
Life leaps down all her sources and is glad
With gladness that enfolds each humblest thing.
Furrows teem fragrant, trees with buds go mad;
Music and color and a sunbright glee
Turn sullen earth into sweet Arcady.
The autumn’s rapture is a soberer wight,
But deep in tender dreams and rich in rare
Designs, and mellow harmonies of light.
The hills lie steeped in memories most fair,
The forests blaze with visions, and the year,
Two-minded, mingles elegies of dearth
With hopeful hymns of yet triumphant birth,
When May returns, when Spring again is here.
Richard Burton.