ne else to talk to.

But still there wasn't anybody there.

They were all over to the other side of the room talking, and paying
no attention to Mother and Mr. Harlow, only the violinist. He looked
and looked, and acted nervous with his watch-chain. But he didn't come
over. I felt, some way, that I ought to go away and not hear any
more; but I couldn't without showing them that I had been there. So
I thought it was better to stay just where I was. They could see me,
anyway, if they'd just look in the mirror. So I didn't feel that I was
sneaking. And I stayed.

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 Aun