He rose, and his head was up. "All my life, I have wanted just one
thing which has been denied me--and that one thing is you. And no
other man shall take you from me. I suppose I've got to set myself
another season of patience. But I can wait, because in the end I shall
get what I want--remember that, Mary."
"Don't be too sure, Porter."
"I am so sure," lifting the hand which was weighted with the heavy
ring, "I am so sure, that I will make a wager with fortune, that the
day will come when this ring shall be our betrothal ring, I'll give you
others, Mary, but this shall be the one which shall bind you to me."
She snatched her hand away. "You speak as if you were--sure," she said.
"I am. I'm going to let you work and do as you please for a little
while, if you must. But in the end I'm going to marry you, Mary."
At dinner Mary announced the contents of her letter in the long
envelope. "I have received my appointment as stenographer in the
Treasury, and I'm to report for duty on the twentieth."
It was Aunt Frances who recovered first from the shock. "Well, if you
were my child----"
Grace, with little points of light in her eyes, spoke smoothly, "If
Mary were your child, she would be as dutiful as I am, mother. But you
see she isn't your child."
Aunt Frances snorted--"Dutiful."
Gordon was glowering. "It is rank foolishness."
Mary flared. "That's your point of view, Gordon. You judge me by
Constance. But Constance has always been feminine and sweet--and I've
never been particularly feminine, nor particularly sweet."
Barry followed up her defense. "I guess Mary knows how to take care of
herself, Gordon."
"No woman knows how to take care of herself," Gordon was obstinate,
"when it comes to the fight with economic conditions. I should hate to
think of Constance trying to earn a living."
"Gordon, dear," Constance's voice appealed, "I couldn't--but Mary
can--only I hate to see her do it."
"I don't," said Grace, stoutly. "I envy her."
Aunt Frances fixed her daughter with a stern eye. "Don't encourage her
in her foolishness, Grace," she said; "each of you should marry and
settle down with some nice man."
"But what man, mother?" Grace, leaning forward, put the question, with
an irritating air of doubt.