It was to this uncle’s home above the store that she and her mother went when her father died. A year after her father’s death, when she was fifteen, Margaret went to work at a dressmaker’s in the neighborhood. They managed to get along very comfortably together. Her uncle was kindness itself and a genius at his trade. There was no style of watch or clock he could not fix up and make keep correct time. He was an expert at chronometer work and was regularly consulted by captains of ships and even by the Navy Yard.
Six years ago, Margaret’s mother died, leaving her alone with her uncle. The old man had aged and grown quite feeble then. He longed to go back to Germany. So strong was this homesickness for his beloved Harz Mountains that the doctor thought it best to urge him to go. He went, promising to come back soon, but he never returned. He died among the pine-clad hills of his birthplace. The little property he left fell to Margaret and became the foundation for the now greatly discussed bank account.
About three years after her mother’s death she met a young man--a decent, quiet fellow, an assistant in a drug-store. She liked him. He dressed well and was very attentive and kind to her. A year later she consented to become engaged to him. They were to be married as soon as his employer had fulfilled his promise to raise his salary and give him a percentage of the business.
She was sure she did not love him; but she was in no doubt that he needed some good, capable girl to look after him. He was rather weak and vacillating; but he was good-looking and any girl would be rather proud to go out with him. Margaret put it that way, because it really expressed her mind. She didn’t see what else men were good for any way, except to be mothered and to walk out with. It was nice for them to take you out, and it felt good to have a man lean on you and come to you for advice and the help that a woman could give him.
Well, things went on very happily for some months and then she noticed that he came less frequently to the house. He would send notes instead, excusing himself for one reason or another. One evening, when she had stayed later than usual at the store to finish some dresses for the Easter season, she went into Krugler’s restaurant, at the corner of Second Avenue, for her supper, and sat down near a slight partition or screen of plants. She had scarcely begun her meal when she heard a familiar voice from the other side of the screen. Peering through the leaves of the palm she saw her Bert seated at a table with a young woman. He had his back to her, but she could hear quite distinctly what he was saying. He was talking in the most endearing words, exactly as he had talked to her. Then she heard the girl remind him of the young lady--the serious girl with the money in bank--she had seen him with. Wasn’t he engaged to be married to her? He passionately protested. It was not true, he said. He only loved her--the girl he was with now. The other couldn’t compare with her. The other was all right, but she had no heart--she was always preaching and talking about getting on. Margaret waited to hear no more. She had heard too much as it was. The next day she returned him the little gifts he had made her, including the engagement ring, and when he called she declined to see him. Since then she did not care to know any man. Of course, Bert was no loss. She knew that now, but she had liked him once. Oh, yes, men were all right in their way; but a girl was far better off not to bother herself about them. She’d get along just as well.