"
It was some time before John could be made to understand the whole
story; and when it had been told, he instantly leaped to the conclusion
that the whole credit of Orin's getting the commission belonged of
right to Milly, a conviction in which he remained steadfast despite all
her disclaimers.
At last she gave up protesting, and shut his mouth with a kiss. Since
John, as well as Orin, thought so, she felt that her part must have
been more important than she had realized; but she was too modest to
bear so much praise.
"John," she said at length, "I have something awful to confess. I've
been keeping a secret from you."
"I'm afraid I've been too much of a bear for it to have been safe to
tell me," returned her lover, smiling.
His own heart was filled with the double joy of reconciliation, and of
having brought it about himself by a manly confession of his fault.
"It wasn't that at all," she protested. "It was because I wasn't sure
about it; and then I wanted to surprise you if I got it."
"Got what? You speak as if it was the smallpox. Is it anything
catching?"
"Oh, no," answered Milly, laughing gleefully at his sally, which to her
present mood seemed the most exquisite wit. "You needn't be afraid;
it's only the matronship of the new Knitting School, thank you, with a
salary of five hundred dollars a year."
"Really, Milly?"
"Really, John; and don't you think"--
"Think what?"
She had made up her mind to say it even before this blessed agreement
had come about, but now that the moment came, the habits and trammels
of generations held her back.
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