“Isn’t it a dreadful, horrible thing? But he always was a little wild and queer, not quite like other folks. I was sure that he would die; he may yet, he may have a relapse. I should think that they would rather have him dead than grow silly. I suppose that Laura will never be married now; he will never be fit to be left alone. His father can marry though, and that would leave her free. I never object to second marriages, do you?”
“That depends upon several things.”
“My father was married three times. I had two stepmothers, and might have had four if he had lived longer. Some people think, but I never did, that an engagement is as good as a marriage, do you?”
“Yes.”
“Of course, I knew that you would think so. But I never had any high-flown ideas about engagements. I was engaged to John Gesner—your father doesn’t know it to this day—he has high and mighty ideas about things like you. You ought to have some feeling about Felix Harrison, then, for he always wanted you. Professional men are always poor; Dr. Lake is not much of a ‘catch.’”
“I think he is—or will be—to the woman who can appreciate him.”
“I beseech you don’t you go to appreciate him.”
“I do now—sufficiently,” she answered, smiling.
Two weeks later, having seen Felix several times during the interval, Dine brought her a letter late in the afternoon.
Felix always had written her name in full, saying that it was prettier than the one that she had given herself in baby-days; the penmanship appeared like a child’s imitation of his bold strokes.