“What does it mean, Harry?” Molly asked anxiously, for it had been a grief to her to feel she was the cause of estrangement.
“It must mean that my father, or mother, or both, are beginning to see they’ve been in fault.”
“Oh Harry, I should be so glad if you were once more all you used to be—to them.”
“I shall never be that, for I shall never go back to the sort of semi-dependence I was in,—but shall we go at Christmas?”
“Oh, certainly.”
“I’m afraid you may not have a very good time.”
“Oh, yes, I shall.”
“Then we accept. I tell you what, little Molly, if my father and mother had not been favorably impressed,—had they found us living as they expected, they would not have said a word about our going there.”
“Oh Harry, I hope so; surely, the less comfortable you were the more you would need them.”
“No, they look on it this way: as I made my bed so I must lie on it. Had the bed been a bad one, they would have said, ‘serve him right;’ as it seems much better than they thought it would be, they are inclined to think themselves wrong.”