What Miss West said when she read the letter was, "Make it up, indeed!
Redeem me from such degradation! Crown me with such honour! Intolerable
arrogance! How could he take it upon him? But it is like Bill; conceited
fellow!"
Miss West was properly indignant. The letter was so unsuitable in every
respect. All her life she had been famous as a woman of spirit--the
spirit which will cause a woman to decline an obligation as long as
independence is possible, and which will not have for pity what it
cannot have for love. She would prove to Bill Nairne that it was no such
hard fate as he supposed to teach a school under Miss Sandys, no such
promotion, as he fondly imagined, to be placed at the head of the
household of a pompous widower with a pair of spoilt children. She would
convince him that a woman of her age is more difficult to please than a
girl, and is not to be led off her feet by a few impertinently recalled
reminiscences, nor to be won by the tardy wag of a finger. She would
teach Bill Nairne a lesson undreamt of in his philosophy--that all the
nonsense about old maids, their humiliations, their forlorn condition,
and their desperate welcoming of late offers was wholly false.
She selected the smallest sheet of note-paper from the packet lying
beside the exercises in her desk, and wrote:--
"Dear Sir,--I am glad to be able to tell you that, on the whole,
teaching in a school is not so hard a fate as you think. Miss
Sandys is an excellent woman, a reliable friend, and an agreeable
companion. The girls and their antecedents exhibit life to me
under considerable variety of characters and circumstances, and as
pupils they are mostly affectionate as well as interesting. I must
remain indebted for your good opinion, and you have my best wishes
for your future welfare, but I beg to decline your--gratuitous"
(Miss West had written the word, but she changed it into--not
gracious, but) "generous offer. Without offence to you, old times
do not come again.
"Believe me, yours very sincerely, M. WEST."
Miss West read her letter, and considered it was, perhaps, too brief.
She did not want to part with him in an unfriendly fashion. Her last
words to Bill Nairne must be such as she herself could think of without
pain. So she rummaged among her Christmas gifts, and found a dancing
Dervish and a brightly-embroidered ball. These she wrapped up with the
letter, and made a small parcel of the whole, after she had added this
postscript: "Please give the enclosed toys as cheap New Year's
playthings to the children. Tell them, if you choose, that they come
from an old friend of papa's, whose name was--Mad."