"After all, it is the people who make the country, and the Church too. And it ought to be what the people want, the majority of them."
Jaqueline's tone carried a penetrating conviction, yet Marian steeled her heart against it. The people certainly were an aggregate of individuals; and if everyone insisted upon having his own way, anarchy must ensue. But she could not reason on the subject, even in Jaqueline's girlish fashion. Argument was reprehensible in women.
"Then you just mean to wait!" There was an accent of disappointment in Jaqueline's tone.
"There is nothing else to do. I certainly must respect papa's wishes."
"You've changed so, Marian."
"Remember, Jaqueline, I am years older than you," she replied with dignity. "And now I have to be mother's companion. She misses father very much. I'm glad to have you happy, and everyone is pleased with your engagement. It is a very excellent one."
"The excellence wouldn't go very far if it did not please me," returned the younger girl. "My happiness and pleasure are a personal affair, not simply the satisfaction of others."
"I hope you will be very happy," reiterated Marian. "Dolly is. Mother thinks her letters are quite frivolous; they are all about dinners and visits and parties. She doesn't go to the very gay ones, but she writes about them. Charleston must be quite as fashionable as Washington, to judge from the gowns and entertainments. But Dolly is not keeping house, though she has her rooms and her maid."
Then the two girls lapsed into silence as they walked up and down. Jaqueline was thinking that next week Lieutenant Ralston would be her cavalier, and she had ardently wished to reawaken hope in his breast, in the place of the disesteem in which he held Marian—indeed, nearly all women; though he occasionally said: "I can't imagine you or Mrs. Jettson doing such a thing!" That was really flattering. Of course she should tell him of her engagement, and they would still be friends.
Louis was to be of the party, and they started off in high spirits.