For we _shall_ be happy, Madge. You know I'm to be
free, too, soon, dear, and then we--"
But he didn't finish. Mother put up her hand and stopped him. Her face
wasn't flushed any more. It was very white.
"Carl," she began in a still, quiet voice, and I was so thrilled. I
knew something was going to happen--this time she'd called him by his
first name. "I'm sorry," she went on. "I've tried to show you. I've
tried very hard to show you--without speaking. But if you make me say
it I shall have to say it. Whether you are free or not matters not to
me. It can make no difference in our relationship. Now, will you come
with me to the other side of the room, or must I be so rude as to go
and leave you?"
She got up then, and he got up, too. He said something--I couldn't
hear what it was; but it was sad and reproachful--I'm sure of that by
the look in his eyes. Then they both walked across the room to the
others.
I was sorry for him. I do not want him for a father, but I couldn't
help being sorry for him, he looked so sad and mournful and handsome;
and he's got perfectly beautiful eyes. (Oh, I do hope mine will have
nice eyes, when I find him!)
As I said before, I don't believe Mother'll choose Mr. Harlow, anyway,
even when the time comes.
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