On the hall table, beside a well-worn copy of Shelley, lay the
Doctor's gloves and soft gray hat. She seized the gloves impulsively
and laid them against her cheek.
"Dear, dear Doctor!" she whispered almost fiercely. "So good, and
kind, and--and wonderful!"
Suddenly she was aware of some one watching her covertly through the
crack of the dining-room door.
"Myrtella!" she cried. "Is that you?"
"Yes'm, if you please," came in strange, meek accents. "I'd like to
speak with you."
It was so entirely out of the course of human events for Myrtella to
assume humility, that Miss Lady looked at her in amazement.
"I can't say," began Myrtella, still half behind the door, "that I
like the way things is run in this house. I'm thinkin' some of givin'
notice."
"Why, Myrtella!" cried Miss Lady in dismay. "I'm afraid the work is
too heavy. We might get--"
"Needn't mind finishing, Mis' Squeerington, you was goin' to say a
house girl. If you think I'd share my room with any Dutch or Irish
biddy, I must say you're mighty mistaken! Besides, ain't I givin'
satisfaction? Ain't I doin' the work to suit you?"
"Of course you are, but I thought you--"
"Was gettin' old, I suppose, and couldn't do as much work as I used
to.
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