It's all over--the love story, I mean, and I know now why it's been so
hard for me to remember to be Mary and why everything is different,
and all.
_They don't want me to be Mary_.
_They want me to be Marie_.
And now I don't know what to think. If Mother's going to want me to
be Mary, and Father's going to want me to be Marie, how am I going to
know what anybody wants, ever? Besides, it was getting to be such a
beautiful love story--Father and Cousin Grace. And now--
But let me tell you what happened.
It was last night. We were on the piazza, Father, Cousin Grace, and
I. And I was thinking how perfectly lovely it was that Father _was_
there, and that he was getting to be so nice and folksy, and how I
_did_ hope it would last, even after he'd married her, and not have
any of that incompatibility stuff come into it. Well, just then
she got up and went into the house for something--Cousin Grace, I
mean--and all of a sudden I determined to tell Father how glad I was,
about him and Cousin Grace; and how I hoped it would last--having him
out there with us, and all that. And I told him.
I don't remember what I said exactly. But I know I hurried on and said
it fast, so as to get in all I could before he interrupted; for he had
interrupted right at the first with an exclamation; and I knew he was
going to say more right away, just as soon as he got a chance.
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