Maria hitched away a little from him, and made no reply.
“Ida, Miss Slome, tells me that she thinks you know, and so I made up my mind I had better tell you, and not wait any longer, although I shall not take any decisive step before—before November. What would you say if father should bring home a new mother for his little girl, dear?”
“I should say I would rather have Aunt Maria,” replied Maria, decisively. She choked back a sob.
“I've got nothing to say against Aunt Maria,” said Harry. “She's been very kind to come here, and she's done all she could, but—well, I think in some ways, some one else—Father thinks you will be much happier with another mother, dear.”
“No, I sha'n't.”
Harry hesitated. The child's voice sounded so like her dead mother's that he felt a sudden guilt, and almost terror.
“But if father were happier—you want father to be happy, don't you, dear?” he asked, after a little.
Then Maria began to sob in good earnest. She threw her arms around her father's neck. “Yes, father, I do want you to be happy,” she whispered, brokenly.
“If father's little girl were large enough to keep his house for him, and were through school, father would never think of taking such a step,” said Harry Edgham, and he honestly believed what he said. For the moment his old love of life seemed to clutch him fast, and Ida Slome's radiant visage seemed to pale.
“Oh, father,” pleaded Maria. “Aunt Maria would marry you, and I would a great deal rather have her.”