The Aristocratic Miss Brewster by Joseph C. Lincoln

Mary dreaded meeting Peter Hall that morning. Her brother's reminder that the meeting was likely to be embarrassing for them both was quite superfluous. She realized only too well how embarrassing it must be. Hall had not received his dismissal graciously. Once convinced that her refusal of his proposal was definite and final he had stalked from the sitting room and from the house without a word of farewell. She had tried to be considerate. She had spoken of her gratitude toward him, the gratitude she should always feel. She should never forget his kindness and patience. She valued his friendship and seriously hoped that they might always remain friends. As to marrying him, however, that she could not do. It was impossible. In his expression and manner as he made his abrupt departure was more than bitter disappointment. There was anger, too. His pride was hurt. The little cashier possessed a self-esteem entirely out of proportion to his stature. He considered himself an important personage in Wapatomac and a large percentage of the town's population agreed with that estimate. That percentage would have appraised an offer of marriage from Peter Hall as a high honor and its recipient as a very lucky woman. Mary Brewster had been unappreciative of that honor. Would Hall be broad-minded enough to forgive, even if he could not forget? Or would he hold a grudge? Mary did not know, but she was fearful. Had her half brother not disclosed his plan for their future the situation would have been distressing indeed. As it was, if her position as bookkeeper became intolerable, she could always accept Ben's generous offer. Perhaps she might come to feel that she should accept it in any event. That remained to be seen.

She was at her desk and busy when the cashier entered the bank. She greeted him with a "Good morning" which she tried to make as pleasantly everyday as if there had been no unpleasant evening preceding it. He acknowledged it with a stiffly formal "Good morning, Miss Brewster," and, seating himself at his own desk, opened the letters which Bennie Jackson had placed there. When, later on, he required her services on a matter of business connected with one of those letters, he did not, as had been his custom, rise and come to her; instead he called her to him and stated his requirement curtly. All through that day his manner was coldly business-like. There were no more pleasant smiles, no more leaning over her shoulder, no confidential chats about this or that connected with her work or his. If Philander Cahoon noticed the difference--and she felt sure that he must notice it--he said nothing. Bennie Jackson, however, was less reticent.