“Well, then,”—Mr. Grover drew a breath of relief—“you might’s well say I can have her. I want it all understood before she gets home. I want to stop her runnin’ with that Walton. Once or twice I’ve been afraid you’d just as leave she’d marry him as me. I don’t like to see girls gallivant with two or three fellows.”
Mrs. Mansfield sat motionless, looking at him. Her eyes did not falter; the smile did not wholly vanish from her face. Only the blood throbbed slowly away, leaving it paler than Mariella’s had been that morning. She understood her mistake almost before his first sentence. While he was speaking her thoughts were busy. She felt the blood coming back when she remembered what she had said to Mariella. If only she had not spoken!
“Well,” she said, calmly, “have you said anything to Mariella?”
“Yes, I have; lots o’ times. An’ I know she likes me; but she’s some flirtish, and that’s what I want to put a stop to. So, with your permission, I’ll have a talk with her to-night.”
“I’d like to talk to her first myself.” Mrs. Mansfield looked almost stern. “But I guess it’ll be all right, Mr. Grover. If you’d just as soon wait till to-morrow, I’d like to be alone and make up my mind what to say to her.”
Mr. Grover got up and shook hands with her awkwardly.
“I’ll make her a good husband,” he said, earnestly.
“I don’t doubt that,” replied Mrs. Mansfield.
Then he went out and the crimson curtain fell behind him.
When Mariella came home her mother was sitting, rocking, by the window. The lamp was lighted.