Merry laughed in spite of herself. "You certainly are the most impossible boy! You speak of getting married as if it were a set of tennis."
"It's easy enough to get a divorce. Why don't you take a chance? Come on, be a sport!"
When he found this wooing ineffective, Billy adopted the tragic motif. "Every time I think I've picked a rose," he declared disconsolately, "it turns out to be poison ivy; and here I am, stung again!"
It was unfortunate for Billy that Merry could never take him seriously. While the boy poured out his youthful protestations she was gentle and considerate, but her appeal to his reason proved futile because no such thing existed. Later, when alone, the absurdity of the situation gave her an outlet, and she laughed quietly to herself. Poor, dear, easy-going Billy! She would have spared him even these imaginary heart-pangs if she could, but the real meaning of life and its responsibilities was yet for him to learn.
Constant in the purpose to which she had consecrated herself, Merry received her mother on that eventful morning with mind prepared to accept the supreme test. She had been standing at the window before her chamber door opened, looking out across the broad lawn to the wide expanse of water sparkling in the morning sun. She had watched a stately four-master sailing majestically by; she had watched the little pleasure craft, darting in and out as if playing at hide and seek. The great ship pursued its dignified course, following the track laid down for it by the mariner's chart; the frolicsome boats went hither or thither, whichever way the favoring wind filled their sails. The great ship by holding steadfastly to her course would eventually reach that port toward which she had set out, with her mission fulfilled; the little boats would return to the moorings from which they fluttered with no other purpose accomplished than the pleasure of the passing moment. Yes, Merry had told herself, it was purpose which counted. She had dashed out over and over again on brief excursions, but even her serious errands had been undertaken because they gave her pleasure. Unless the course be charted, unless the goal be predetermined, there could be no permanence, no majestic dignity to any performance. The time had come when she would permit no wavering. She would show her confidence in the experience of the older mariner, who had plotted out the chart, by following it without the semblance of a doubt.
"I'm ready, Momsie," she said brightly, turning toward Mrs. Thatcher,—"why, Momsie! what's the matter? It's all right, dearie. I'm sure we'll be very, very happy. I'm ready to see Mr. Hamlen whenever you say. It's all right, dearie."
Mrs. Thatcher sat down wearily, and Merry slipped to the floor at her feet, looking wonderingly up into her strained face. Marian leaned forward impulsively and kissed her, resting her cheek against the girl's face.
"My darling!" she said in a low, tense voice. "I have made a horrible mistake!"
The spoken words started a flood of tears which until then Marian had been able to restrain. The full weight of the responsibility again rushed over her. She had dared to interfere in two lives which should have been allowed to find their own expression, she had dared to pit her human judgment against Nature. What would be the final outcome? With Merry, she could not believe it would result in anything more serious than a further confusion of ideals, but with Hamlen she knew well how disastrous the effect must be. How could she make matters clear to this dear child when her own brain was so bewildered!
But when the tears had relieved the tension, and Marian felt the sympathetic encouragement of the heart beating against her own, the mother love, as always, rose triumphant over mental and physical limitations. During the next hours, amid confidences and revelations which enabled each at last to understand the other, mother and daughter experienced that rare communion which had been denied them, but which was theirs by right. The sacrifice Merry had been ready to make accomplished its purpose without necessity of execution; the sincerity of her mother's purpose became clear, and the girl discovered the natural refuge where she might always find relief from overpowering perplexities. When they went down-stairs together, with arms around each other, and strolled out into the rose-garden, there was a new meaning to the sunlight and to the fragrance of the flowers. Marian saw in it a promise that her morning supplication might not have been in vain.