Marie Bromar was a
pretty girl, and George Voss, had he lived so near to her and not
have fallen in love with her, must have been cold indeed.
At the end of these five years Marie had become a woman, and was
known by all around her to be a woman much stronger, both in person
and in purpose, than her aunt; but she maintained, almost
unconsciously, many of the ways in the house which she had assumed
when she first entered it. Then she had always been on foot, to be
everybody's messenger,--and so she was now. When her uncle and aunt
were at their meals she was always up and about,--attending them,
attending the public guests, attending the whole house. And it
seemed as though she herself never sat down to eat or drink.
Indeed, it was rare enough to find her seated at all. She would
have a cup of coffee standing up at the little desk near the public
window when she kept her books, or would take a morsel of meat as
she helped to remove the dishes. She would stand sometimes for a
minute leaning on the back of her uncle's chair as he sat at his
supper, and would say, when he bade her to take her chair and eat
with them, that she preferred picking and stealing.
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