Yet to those about her, she seemed more reckless of her fate than ever—going out but seldom, and scarcely allowing any gentleman to approach her presence.
The old housekeeper, who was strongly attached to her young mistress, had fretted and scolded to herself for weeks and months. The only time when she managed to preserve her equanimity, was when Crayford visited the house, for then she saw plainly an offer of marriage, and a wedding-party in the bottom of her tea-cup, while love-letters and kisses sparkled in the candle! But when, like all others, he was also dismissed, the poor soul could contain herself no longer, but breaking in abruptly upon Florence one morning, she thus began:
“Does thee know what month it is?”
“Yes, dear Mrs. Hicks,” answered Florence, raising her eyes from her painting.
“And does thee know that in two more thee has been a widow one year?”
“Alas, yes! but why—why, Mrs. Hicks, do you remind me of it?”
“Truly, child—has thee forgotten thee must marry!”
“Must marry! O no, my good friend, not unless I please—and it is not my will to marry,” said Florence, smiling.
“Not thy will to marry!” exclaimed Mrs. Hicks, lifting up both hands; “and so thy will is to be poor!”
“Yes,” answered Florence, “if you call it being poor to be possessed of health and strength, added to three hundred dollars a year. Poor! why my dear Mrs. Hicks, I shall be rich—really rich!”