"I mean, on account of Mother--that not for you, or Aunt Jane, or
anybody will I go back to that school and associate with folks that
won't associate with me--on account of Mother."
And then I told it--all about the girls, Stella Mayhew, Carrie, and
how they acted, and what they said about my being Dr. Jekyll and Mr.
Hyde because I was a Mary and a Marie, and the ice-cream, and the
parties they had to give up if they went with _me_. And I know I was
crying so I could hardly speak before I finished; and Father was on
his feet tramping up and down the room muttering something under his
breath, and looking--oh, I can't begin to tell how he looked. But it
was awful.
"And so that's why I wish," I finished chokingly, "that it would hurry
up and be a year, so Mother could get married."
"_Married!_" Like a flash he turned and stopped short, staring at me.
"Why, yes," I explained; "for if she _did_ get married, she wouldn't
be divorced any longer, would she?"
But he wouldn't answer. With a queer little noise in his throat he
turned again and began to walk up and down, up and down, until I
thought for a minute he'd forgotten I was there. But he hadn't. For
after a while he stopped again right in front of me.
"So your mother is thinking of getting married," he said in a voice so
queer it sounded as if it had come from away off somewhere.
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