"What did Mr. Hartley want with you? What did he say? What did you speak of?" My cousin Mary had prodded, pleaded, as we entered the bustling little shop.
We had moved to the ribbons, shimmering satin pastel streamers of springtime color. I sifted through them aimlessly, thoughts still whirling on this recent meeting with handsome Mr. Hartley. "I ... cannot quite remember what we spoke about," I murmured. "I suppose it was nothing of great significance."
She scoffed, clearly unsatisfied with my answer. I proceeded to browse the store silently. That coincidental encounter and the following conversation, stalked me, haunting my every thought the rest of the day.
Henry Hartley was a figure unfamiliar to the area, a man without a known family or an apparent background. Despite this, he was gaining the notice of many; mainly the young ladies of the town, the same ladies who I encountered almost daily. He was tall and particularly dashing, processing an appealingly smart, sharp-featured face and the most vibrant of blue eyes. From my understanding, he was also gaining signifcant success with his newly opened printing press. From what I could tell, he had seemed very knowledgable in the duration of our exchange, although he had spoken little, having me do much of the talking with a casual sequence of questions.
The brief time we spent together only made me more curious of him. I held the private wish to meet with him again, and many times more. However, I would tell no one of this secret. My brother would find great entertainment in such an admission.