Dora started. "You know what that would mean?"
"Starvation," replied Ann, calmly. "I don't know exactly how you feel, Dora. But I do know how I feel. I have
been taking so long that I cannot endure it another month without losing my self-respect. I must give
something, and it must be taken. You can do exactly as you choose. I shall not take or benefit by another
dollar of Sarah Edgewater's money, unless she takes something from me."
Dora looked tragically thoughtful. "I wonder if we are ungrateful and wicked, Ann," said she.
"I suppose we are," Ann replied, calmly; "but I can't help it if we are. My mind is made up. There is
something about the way that envelope with the money is slipped into a book on the table every week, and
nobody saying anything, that is making me lose my reason, if I do nothing."
"But poor Sarah gives in that way so as to spare our feelings. She knows it would be awful if we had to cash a
check or anything like that. And she does not want to hand the money right out. She does it all in the very best
way she knows. I could not manage it any better; neither could you."
"Don't you suppose I know that? Do you think I am unjust enough to blame Sarah? I am not unjust; I suppose
I am wicked and ungrateful."
"Well, I suppose I am, too," said Dora slowly, "for I feel just as you do. If Sarah doesn't take the bonnet, I will
never take another dollar of her money."
Ann nodded. Her shadowy face sharpened suddenly with an intense thought. "Do you think it would be
suicide?" she asked.
"I don't know; I do know my mind is made up."
"So is mine," said Ann. "There is some narrow white ribbon in the right-hand corner of that drawer. Please get
it for me. I want to do up these flowers."
"There is time enough."
"I know, but I don't want the shade put back in the drawer. I am afraid something will happen to it; I have
always been afraid it would get broken. It would just go in by laying it on its side. When Sarah comes over
next time I shall give it to her. She need not open it until a week before the wedding. Then she can give it to
Margy."
"I had better wash the shade," said Dora. "It looks a little dusty."
Dora washed and polished the shade. When it was replaced, if one could banish one's opinion concerning false
art, the whole was in reality not unpleasing. Those wax flowers had been very well and daintily made. The
small symmetrical pyramid of waxen bloom beneath the crystal shade, although obsolete and probably bound
to awaken merriment, was no worse in effect than many gifts spread on the display-tables on Margy Ellerton's
wedding day.
Dora had sent the shade by Sarah as planned, and the week before the wedding had presented Sarah herself
with the bonnet in an ancient bandbox, freshly papered with remnants of the white-and-gold parlor paper.
"Mine is a wedding present for Margy," Ann said with a peculiar expression, almost aggressive, at least
defiant.