"
"You wrote me about the talk, and he has told me about it since. To be
frank, Marjorie, he told me about the conversation with your mother, and
how startled he was. After that talk with you he was assured that she was
mistaken--but, child, there was no harm, no sin--even if it had been
true. The only sin I find was your mother's want of faith in making
haste. And she sees it now and laments it. She says making haste has been
the sin of her lifetime. Her unbelief has taken that form. You were very
chilly to Hollis last night."
"I couldn't help it," said Marjorie. "I would not have come if I could
have stayed at home."
"Is that proud heart satisfied now?"
"Perhaps it oughtn't to be--if it is proud."
"We will not argue about it now as there's somebody waiting for you
down-stairs."
"I don't want to see him--now."
"Suppose he wants to see you."
"Aunt Prue! I wish I could be selfish just a few minutes."
"You may. A whole hour. You may be selfish up here all by yourself until
the dinner bell rings."
Marjorie laughed and drew the lounge afghan up about her shoulders. She
was so happy that she wanted to go to sleep;--to go to sleep and be
thankful. But the dinner bell found her in the parlor talking to Linnet;
Prue and Hollis were chattering together in French. Prue corrected his
pronunciation and promised to lend him books.
The most inviting corner in the house to Marjorie was a cosey corner in
the library; she found her way thither after dinner, and there Hollis
found her, after searching parlors, dining-room, and halls for her.
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