Mr. W----, one of the proprietors of the bindery where our heroine
worked--a junior partner, but the chief manager of the concern, was a
single man, not yet forty, in the very prime of life. He was, as a man,
not as a fop, very good-looking. His stalwart frame, well-developed,
showed his American birth; but his full, round, rosy face spoke also
of his English paternity. He had thus far in life been too busy to
think of matrimony, and, living with his parents, who were in easy
circumstances, he had never known the want of a home, or the need of a
wife to make home bright. His sisters, of whom he had two, considerably
younger than himself, had ever seen to his linen--his tailor looked to
his wardrobe--he had little to trouble himself about. He belonged to a
coterie or club of bachelors, and was never at a loss about a place to
spend his evenings in.
But that day, when the wealthy and influential Mr. Legare had told
Hattie Butler that she deserved to be in a higher sphere, had opened
Mr. W----’s eyes--opened them to the wonderful beauty as well as the
surprising talent of the girl who had worked at low wages without a
murmur for over two years in his shop.
He had noticed her quiet modesty in contrast with the boldness of other
girls often before, but that very shrinking modesty had also kept her
beauty in the background.
And that very afternoon he had taken occasion in person to look at
her work, as her slim, tapering fingers gathered up missing pages and
placed them where they belonged; and he asked her many questions, in a
kinder tone than he was accustomed to use to his employees; for there
was to him a very sweet music in the voice that answered his queries.
And when he went home that evening he was strangely absent-minded. When
his Sister Flotie asked him if he would not get opera tickets and take
her and Anna to hear “Lucia” on the Monday night following, he said:
“Yes, Miss Hattie--yes; with pleasure.”
“Hattie? Who is Hattie, brother, that you should use that name instead
of Flotie, when you answer me?”
“Did I? I didn’t mean to; but I am full of Hattie some way. I went to
write a letter to our paper manufacturer, and had got a dozen lines
written, when I saw I had headed it, ‘Dear Hattie.’ There is a girl in
the bindery of that name--a most remarkable girl. I will tell you all I
know about her. She looks and acts like a princess in disguise.”
And then Mr. W---- gave a very highly colored description of our
heroine and her acquirements.
“And you have let this prodigy of beauty and learning, of modesty and
goodness, work for you for two years at little better than starvation
wages? Coward! I’m ashamed of you, if you are my brother,” cried
Flotie, warmly.
“Sis, don’t break out that way. We pay the usual rates. Were we to pay
higher, we could not compete with other binderies and keep up.”
“But four dollars a week to pay board and washing, and dress with! Why,
it wouldn’t keep me in gloves.”
“Yet thousands of poor girls work for and live on less, my peerless
sister. You, who know no want that is not supplied almost as soon as
expressed, know little how poor girls and women have to struggle to
keep their heads above the tide. But my heroine is better off now. I
have given her other work, and raised her salary to ten dollars a week.”
“Good! good! You have some heart after all, Ned.”
“I begin to think I have,” said Mr. W----, with a sigh.
“Here! here! No nonsense, brother mine. Don’t make a fool of yourself
by falling in love with your pretty employee. She may be very
pretty, very modest, and good, but I don’t want a bindery girl for a
sister-in-law. Remember that.”
Mr. W----’s answer was another sigh. He seemed lost in thought, and,
as he had promised the opera tickets, Flotie left him to his thoughts,
and went to tell Anna about her brother’s new discovery, as well as to
announce that they were to hear “Lucia” on the coming Monday night.
“Do you think Brother Edward is really in love with this shop-girl?”
asked Anna, in a serious tone, when Flotie had told her story.
“I think he is a little smitten, but seriously in love--no. Not a bit
of it. Edward is too much engrossed in business to fall in love in good
earnest. He hasn’t leisure for that. Besides, he has too much sense
to ever think of marrying for beauty, and out of his own sphere, too.
There are rich girls who would snap at him for the asking.”
“Flotie, love--real love--laughs at riches.”
“May be so, Anna; but love--real love, as you call it--never--scorns a
diamond engagement-ring, nor refuses to wear satin and Valenciennes
lace for a wedding suit. Where would the bindery girl on four, or even
ten dollars a week, find them?”
“Ned would find them for her fast enough, if he loved her. But say,
Flotie, what will we wear on Monday night? That is the question for the
hour. You know the _creme de la creme_ of society will be there, and we
must uphold the family credit.”
“Yes, even if papa heaves a heavy sigh over our demands. Let me think.
We’ll go up stairs and look over our wardrobe, see what we have, and
then we’ll know what we must have. Come, pet.”
And away went the two loving sisters--girls yet, though both were past
their teens.