"I'm just a bit old-fashioned, I'm afraid," she murmured. "Nowadays, it's the thing to make such announcements through a megaphone from the housetops."
For some time, she continued to sew in silence, Shirley watching her the while. All of a sudden Shirley drew a long breath and said:—
"Miriam, I wish I were happily married. It's the only life for a woman."
"Yes, you are right," assented Miriam joyously, from whom had fled the recollection of all but the last few years.
"I have always taken the keenest interest in the romances of others, but I want something more than a mere vicarious interest in romances—marriage. I'm a marrying woman," declared the girl, "and I dread the thought of being an old maid."
Miriam laughed.
"And yet they say that they're the happiest women...."
"Oh, but a real woman is one who has a husband and children—" Shirley stretched forth her arms, as though to grasp all life within them,—"children to bring up; to wipe their noses and dress them for school, and to hear them say their prayers at night. That's life! It isn't pride with me; it's instinct." Miriam thought a moment. Finally she ventured:—
"But you've had chances. There was Murgatroyd...."
"Murgatroyd," broke in the girl, "is not my ideal. No, indeed, not after what he did...."