Christie was but too glad to be off; and when Mrs.
Saltonstall asked when she would prefer to leave,
promptly replied, “To-morrow,” received
her salary, which was forthcoming with unusual punctuality,
and packed her trunks with delightful rapidity.
As the family was to leave in a week, her sudden departure
caused no surprise to the few who knew her, and with
kind farewells to such of her summer friends as still
remained, she went to bed that night all ready for
an early start. She saw nothing more of Mr. Fletcher
that day, but the sound of excited voices in the drawing-room
assured her that madame was having it out with her
brother; and with truly feminine inconsistency Christie
hoped that she would not be too hard upon the poor
man, for, after all, it was kind of him to overlook
the actress, and ask the governess to share his good
things with him.
She did not repent, but she got herself to sleep,
imagining a bridal trip to Paris, and dreamed so delightfully
of lost splendors that the awakening was rather blank,
the future rather cold and hard.
She was early astir, meaning to take the first boat
and so escape all disagreeable rencontres, and having
kissed the children in their little beds, with tender
promises not to forget them, she took a hasty breakfast
and stepped into the carriage waiting at the door.
The sleepy waiters stared, a friendly housemaid nodded,
and Miss Walker, the hearty English lady who did her
ten miles a day, cried out, as she tramped by, blooming
and bedraggled:
“Bless me, are you off?”
“Yes, thank Heaven!” answered Christie;
but as she spoke Mr. Fletcher came down the steps
looking as wan and heavy-eyed as if a sleepless night
had been added to his day’s defeat. Leaning
in at the window, he asked abruptly, but with a look
she never could forget:
“Will nothing change your answer, Christie?”
“Nothing.”
His eyes said, “Forgive me,” but his lips
only said, “Good-by,” and the carriage
rolled away.
Then, being a woman, two great tears fell on the hand
still red with the lingering grasp he had given it,
and Christie said, as pitifully as if she loved him:
“He has got a heart, after all, and perhaps
I might have been glad to fill it if he had only shown
it to me sooner. Now it is too late.”
Companion.
Before she had time to find a new situation,
Christie received a note from Miss Tudor, saying that
hearing she had left Mrs. Saltonstall she wanted to
offer her the place of companion to an invalid girl,
where the duties were light and the compensation large.
“How kind of her to think of me,” said
Christie, gratefully. “I’ll go at
once and do my best to secure it, for it must be a
good thing or she wouldn’t recommend it.”
Away went Christie to the address sent by Miss Tudor,
and as she waited at the door she thought:
