"Isn't it dainty! Who is it for, Miriam?"
Miriam raised her head and looked squarely into the eyes of her friend;
the next moment Shirley had her arms about Miriam, and drawing her close
to her, she cried joyfully:--
"You precious thing! I'm so glad, oh, so glad! But why didn't you say so
before?"
Miriam smiled softly.
"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...."
"Then, there was Thorne," persisted Miriam, "and Thorne may be United
States Senator, too--he's forged ahead."