"Oh _dear_!"
"Nancy, Nancy, Nancy!"
But she will be firm about their talking. "No, we mustn't really, we
mustn't, or I can't tell you anything at all. Well, it's this.
"I didn't tell you about it at all--didn't even imagine it would come to
anything. But that old geology specimen Mrs. Winters knows the art-editor
of "The Bazaar" and she happened to say so once when she was here being
gloomy with mother, so I wormed a letter out of her to her friend about
me. And I sent some things in and the poor man seemed to be interested--at
least he said he wanted to see more--and then we started having a real
correspondence. Until finally--it was that Friday because I wrote you the
letter right away--he goes and sends me a letter saying to come on to New
York--that I can have a regular job with them if I want to, and if they
like my stuff well enough, after a couple of months they'll send me to
Paris to do fashions over there and pay me a salary I can more than live on
and everything!"
Nancy cannot help ending with a good deal of triumph, though there is
anxiety behind the triumph as well.
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