The girl could cook for two as well as one, and I guess I
could feed you for two dollars a week. If that ain't satisfactory, you
can just say so."
"Satisfactory!" said Rose, and once more her voice broke.
"All right," said Miss Gibbons hastily, "we'll say no more about it.
That's settled. I'll send the girl to the hotel to get your bags."
John Galbraith's letter asking Rose to report to him July first in New
York, reached her via Portia, during the last week in June, and made an
abrupt conclusion to her life at Centropolis.
Those weeks with Miss Gibbons in the millinery parlor, when she looked
back on them afterward, set in as they were between that purgatorial
winter and the first breathless months while she was establishing
herself in New York, had a quality of happiness and peace, which she was
wont to describe as heavenly.
She'd probably have taken to Miss Gibbons in any circumstance. But,
coming into her life just when she did, the little woman was the shadow
of a great rock to her.
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