“Pills,” she said, “I want you to stop goin’ with that fello’.”
The girl looked at her in silence. Then she took off her turban and stuck the long black pins back into it.
“I thought you liked him,” she said, slowly.
“I do, but Mr. Grover wants you—an’ I like him better.”
“Wants me!” Mariella drew up her shoulders proudly.
“Yes, you,” replied Mrs. Mansfield, laughing. The humor of the situation was beginning to appeal to her. “He says he’d told you. You must of laughed after I told you he wanted me.”
“Oh, ma, does he want me, honest?”
“Yes, he does.” She was still laughing.
“An’ don’t you mind, ma?”
“Not a mite,” said the widow, cheerfully. “I’d rather he’d marry you than me; only, I thought he was too nice a man to be lost to the fam’ly.”