Well, that was the beginning.  I can see now that it was, though, I never thought of its meaning anything then, only that he thought Theresa was a pretty girl, just as we all do.

But four days ago I saw them again.  He tried to put his arm around her that time, and the very next day he tried to kiss her, and after a minute she let him.  More than once, too.  And last night I heard him tell her she was the dearest girl in all the world, and he’d be perfectly happy if he could only marry her.

Well, you can imagine how I felt, when I thought all the time it was Mother he was coming to see!  And now to find out that it was Theresa he wanted all the time, and he was only coming to see Mother so he could see Theresa!

At first I was angry,—­just plain angry; and I was frightened, too, for I couldn’t help worrying about Mother—­for fear she would mind, you know, when she found out that it was Theresa that he cared for, after all.  I remembered what a lot Mother had been with him, and the pretty dresses and hats she’d put on for him, and all that.  And I thought how she’d broken engagements with Mr. Easterbrook to go with him, and it made me angry all over again.  And I thought how mean it was of him to use poor Mother as a kind of shield to hide his courting of Theresa!  I was angry, too, to have my love story all spoiled, when I was getting along so beautifully with Mother and the violinist.

But I’m feeling better now.  I’ve been thinking it over.  I don’t believe Mother’s going to care so very much.  I don’t believe she’d want a man that would pretend to come courting her, when all the while he was really courting the hired girl—­I mean maid.  Besides, there’s Mr. Easterbrook left (and one or two others that I haven’t said much about, as I didn’t think they had much chance).  And so far as the love story for the book is concerned, that isn’t spoiled, after all, for it will be ever so much more exciting to have the violinist fall in love with Theresa than with Mother, for, of course, Theresa isn’t in the same station of life at all, and that makes it a—­a mess-alliance. (I don’t remember exactly what that word is; but I know it means an alliance that makes a mess of things because the lovers are not equal to each other.) Of course, for the folks who have to live it, it may not be so nice; but for my story here this makes it all the more romantic and thrilling.  So that’s all right.

Of course, so far, I’m the only one that knows, for I haven’t told it, and I’m the only one that’s seen anything.  Of course, I shall warn Mother, if I think it’s necessary, so she’ll understand it isn’t her, but Theresa, that the violinist is really in love with and courting. She won’t mind, I’m sure, after she thinks of it a minute.  And won’t it be a good joke on Aunt Hattie and Grandfather when they find out they’ve been fooled all the time, supposing it’s Mother, and worrying about it?