Marjorie stood still. "Well—before you."
Mrs. Pope conceded the point. "And then, Marjorie——" she said.
"I'd keep my word, mother," said Marjorie, and began to sob in a manner she felt to be absurdly childish—"until—until I am one-and-twenty. I'd promise that."
Mrs. Pope did a brief calculation. "Marjorie," she said, "it's only your happiness I think of."
"I know," said Marjorie, and added in a low voice, "and father."
"My dear, you don't understand your father.... I believe—I do firmly believe—if anything happened to any of you girls—anything bad—he would kill himself.... And I know he means that you aren't to go about so much as you used to do, unless we have the most definite promises. Of course, your father's ideas aren't always my ideas, Marjorie; but it's your duty—You know how hasty he is and—quick. Just as you know how good and generous and kind he is"—she caught Marjorie's eye, and added a little lamely—"at bottom." ... She thought. "I think I could get him to let you say just one word with Mr. Trafford. It would be very difficult, but——"
She paused for a few seconds, and seemed to be thinking deeply.
"Marjorie," she said, "Mr. Magnet must never know anything of this."
"But, mother——!"
"Nothing!"