“But, Aunt Prue, what ought I to do now?  What can I do to make it right?”

“Do you want to meddle?”

“No, oh no; but it takes my breath away.  I’m afraid he began to write to me again because he thought I wanted him to.”

“Didn’t you want him to?”

“Yes—­but not—­but not as mother thought I did.  I never once asked God to give him back to me; and I should if I had wanted it very much, because I always ask him for everything.”

“Your pride need not be wounded, poor little Marjorie!  Do you remember telling Hollis about your dark time, that night he met you on your way from your grandfather’s?”

“Yes; I think I do.  Yes, I know I told him; for he called me ‘Mousie,’ and he had not said that since I was little; and with it he seemed to come back to me, and I was not afraid or timid with him after that.”

“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.  The cosey corner itself was an arm-chair near the revolving bookcase; Prue said that papa kept his “pets” in that bookcase.

Marjorie had taken a book into her hand and was gathering a thought here and there when Hollis entered; he pushed a chair to her side, and, seating himself, took the book from her fingers.

“Marjorie, I have come to ask you what to do?”

“About your father’s offer?”