“Yes, it will certainly be a good thing,” her father answered in a relieved tone; “she hasn’t been herself since Donald Mackenzie went away.”
“I was afraid when he came,” was the low uttered response.
“Mothers are always afraid,” returned the father, who had urged his coming.
“But I was specially afraid; Don is so attractive, so unconscious of himself, and I know Marion well enough to know that she would make an ideal of him—”
“Nonsense,” was the sharp interruption.
“It may be nonsense, but it is true; it has proved true. Marion is imaginative, as I was at her age: I know how I idealized you—”
“And the reality of me broke your heart,” he said, with a light, fond laugh.
“Yes. Sometimes it did. But I lived through it and learned that you were human, and deliciously human, and, if you will allow me to say so, a great improvement on my girlish ideal.”
“At any rate, I was not afraid to let you try,” he answered; “but Don has gone without giving her the trial. I suspect he saw it and went.”
“I know he did,” said Marion’s mother.