(That one. She was glad it was the little girl, the poor one. Nice of
Maurice to marry her.)
"Do you mind, Mary?"
"No, not a bit. I hope they'll be happy. I want them to be happy…. Now, you see—that was why he didn't want to marry me."
Her mother sat down on the bed. There was something she was going to say.
"Well—thank goodness that's the last of it."
"Does Mark know?"
"No, he does not. You surely don't imagine anybody would tell him a thing like that about his sister?"
"Like what?"
"Well—he wouldn't think it very nice of you."
"You talk as if I was Aunt Charlotte…. Do you think I'm like her?"