"What do I care?" she said, straightening her hat as if to complete
her recovery. "But if there is one thing that can make me angry,
Anna, it is the middle-aged, able-bodied unmarried men of this
town. They are perfectly, _perfectly_ contemptible."
"Oh, come now!" cried Miss Anna, "I am too old to talk about such
silly things myself; but what does a woman care whether she is
married or not if she has had offers? And you have had plenty of
good offers, my dear."
"No, I haven't!" said Harriet, who would tell the truth about this
rankling misfortune.
"Well, then, it was because the men knew you wouldn't have them."
"No, it wasn't!" said Harriet, "it was because they knew I would."
"Nonsense!" cried Miss Anna, impatiently. "You mustn't try to palm
off so much mock modesty on me, Harriet."
"Ah, I am too old to fib about it, Anna! I leave _that_ to my many
sisters in misfortune."
Harriet looked at her friend's work curiously: she was darning
Professor Hardage's socks.
"Why do you do that, Anna? Socks are dirt cheap. You might as
well go out into the country and darn sheep."
"Ah, you have never had a brother--my brother! so you cannot
understand. I can feel his heels pressing against my stitches when
he is walking a mile away. And I know whenever his fingers touch
the buttons I have put back. Besides, don't you like to see people
make bad things good, and things with holes in them whole again?
Why, that is half the work of the world, Harriet! It is not his
feet that make these holes," continued Miss Anna, nicely, "it is
his shoes, his big, coarse shoes.
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