“I wouldn’t have sent for you but for Mr. Martin,” said Mrs. Howland. “It was he who wished it. Yes, I am much better now, though I cannot honestly say that you are the cause. It’s the thought of seeing Mr. Martin that cheers me up; I must be tidy for him. Yes, you may pour out a cup of tea for me; only see that you keep some really strong tea in the teapot for Mr. Martin, for he cannot bear it weak. He calls weak tea wish-wash.”
“But whoever is this mysterious person?” said Maggie.
“I will tell you in a minute or two. You may give me one of those little cakes. No, I couldn’t stand muffins; I hate them in hot weather. Besides, my digestion isn’t what it was; but I shall be all right by-and-by; so will you too, my dear. And what I do, I do for you.”
“Well, I wish you would tell me what you are doing for me, and get it over,” said Maggie. “You were always very 81 peculiar, mums, always—even when dear father was alive—and you’re not less so now.”
“That’s a very unkind way for a child to speak of her parent,” said Mrs. Howland; “but I can assure you, Maggie, that Mr. Martin won’t allow it in the future.”
Maggie now sprang to her feet.
“Good gracious, mother! What has Mr. Martin to do with me? Is he—is he—it cannot be, mother!”
“Yes, I can,” said Mrs. Howland. “I may as well have it out first as last. I am going to marry Mr. Martin.”
“Mother!”
There was a wailing cry in Maggie’s voice. No girl can stand with equanimity her mother marrying a second time; and as Maggie, with all her dreams of her own future, had never for an instant contemplated this fact, she was simply staggered for a minute or two.