Richard's name I
never saw; neither did Abby know anything about him.. I called at her
house yesterday. She has seven children now--five born since I went
away--and her women's rights have given place to theories with regard to
soothing syrups and baby-jumpers, and the best means of keeping one
child quiet while she dresses the other. Mrs. Plum died six weeks
ago--died in Paris; and, auntie, I was kind to her in her last sickness,
bearing everything, and finding my reward in her deep gratitude,
expressed not only in words, but in a most tangible form. She made her
will, and left me ten thousand dollars. So you see I am not poor nor
dependent. I told her my story, too--told her the whole as it was; and
she made me promise to come back, to you at least, if not to Richard.
Going to him would depend upon whether he wanted me, I said. Do you
think he has forgotten me?"
Again the eager, anxious expression crept into Ethie's eyes, which grew
very soft, and even dewy, as Aunt Barbara replied, "Forgotten you? No. I
never saw a man feel as he did when he first came here, and Sophia
talked to him so, as he sat there in that very willow chair.
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