Then Mr. Harlow spoke again.  His eyes grew even more soulful and devouring.  I could see them in the mirror.

“Madge, it seems so strange that we should both have had to trail through the tragedy of broken hearts and lives before we came to our real happiness.  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.  As for any of the others—­I can’t tell.  She treats them all just exactly alike, as far as I can see.  Polite and pleasant, but not at all lover-like.  I was talking to Peter one day about it, and I asked him.  But he didn’t seem to know, either, which one she will be likely to take, if any.

Peter’s about the only one I can ask.  Of course I couldn’t ask Mother, or Aunt Hattie, after what she said about my calling them prospective suitors.  And Grandfather—­well, I should never think of asking Grandpa a question like that.  But Peter—­Peter’s a real comfort.  I’m sure I don’t know what I should do for somebody to talk to and ask questions about things down here, if it wasn’t for him.  As I think I’ve said already, he takes me to school and back again every day; so of course I see him quite a lot.

Speaking of school, it’s all right, and of course I like it, though not quite so well as I did.  There are some of the girls—­well, they act queer.  I don’t know what is the matter with them.  They stop talking—­some of them—­when I come up, and they make me feel, sometimes, as if I didn’t belong.  Maybe it’s because I came from a little country town like Andersonville.  But they’ve known that all along, from the very first.  And they didn’t act at all like that at the beginning.  Maybe it’s just their way down here.  If I think of it I’ll ask Peter to-morrow.