"Did you say you saw quite a little of--this Harlow fellow?"

But he did care. I know he did. He was _real_ interested. I could see
that he was. And so I told him everything, all about how he came there
to the teas, and sent her flowers and candy, and was getting a divorce
himself, and what he said on the sofa that day, and how Mother
answered. As I said, I told him everything, only I was careful not to
call Mr. Harlow a prospective suitor, of course. I remembered too
well what Aunt Hattie had said. Father didn't say anything when I got
through. He just got up and left the room, and pretty quick I saw him
crossing the lawn to the observatory.

I guess there aren't any prospective suitors here. I mean, I guess
Father isn't a prospective suitor--anyhow, not yet. (Of course, it's
the man that has to be the suitor.) He doesn't go anywhere, only over
to the college and out to the observatory. I've watched so to see. I
wanted specially to know, for of course if he was being a prospective
suitor to any one, she'd be my new mother, maybe. And I'm going to be
awfully particular about any new mother coming into the house.

A whole lot more, even, depends on mothers than on fathers, you know;
and if you're going to have one all ready-made thrust upon you, you
are sort of anxious to know what kind she is. Some way, I don't think
I'd like a new mother even as well as I'd like a new father; and I
don't believe I'd like _him_ very well.

Of course, there are quite a lot of ladies here that Father _could_
have. There are several pretty teachers in the schools, and some nice
unmarried ladies in the church. And there's Miss Parmelia Snow. She's
Professor Snow's sister. She wears glasses and is terribly learned.
Maybe he _would_ like her. But, mercy! I shouldn't.

Then there's Miss Grace Ann Sanborn. She's fat, and awfully jolly. She
comes here a lot lately to see Aunt Jane. I don't know why. They don't
belong to the same church, or anything. But she "runs over," as she
calls it, almost every afternoon just a little before dinner--I mean
supper.

Mrs. Darling used to come then, too, when I first came; but she comes
over evenings now more. Maybe it's because she doesn't like Miss Grace
Ann. I don't think she _does_ like her, for every time she saw her,
she'd say: "Oh, _you_? So you're here!" And then she'd turn and talk
to Aunt Jane and simply ignore Miss Grace Ann. And pretty quick she'd
get up and go. And now she comes evenings