sometimes as if he just
couldn't hear enough about things. Then, all of a sudden, at times,
he'd get right up in the middle of something I was saying and act as
if he was just waiting for me to finish my sentence so he could go.
And he did go, just as soon as I _had_ finished my sentence. And after
that, maybe, he wouldn't hardly speak to me again for a whole day.

And so that's why I say he's been so queer since that night on the
piazza. But most of the time he's been lovely, perfectly lovely. And
so has Cousin Grace, And I've had a beautiful time.

But I do wish they _would_ marry--Father and Cousin Grace, I mean. And
I'm not talking now entirely for the sake of the book. It's for their
sakes--especially for Father's sake. I've been thinking what Mother
used to say about him, when she was talking about my being Mary--how
he was lonely, and needed a good, kind woman to make a home for him.
And while I've been thinking of it, I've been watching him; and I
think he does need a good, kind woman to make a home for him. I'd be
_willing_ to have a new mother for his sake!

Oh, yes, I know he's got Cousin Grace, but he may not have her always.
Maybe she'll be sent for same as Aunt Jane was. _Then_ what's he going
to do, I should like to know?

CHAPTER VIII

WHICH IS THE REAL LOVE STORY

BOSTON. _Four days later_.

Well, here I am again in Boston. Mother and the rest met me at the
station, and everybody seemed glad to see me, just as they did before.
And I was glad to see them. But I didn't feel anywhere near so
excited, and sort of crazy, as I did last year. I tried to, but I
couldn't. I don't know why. Maybe it was because I'd been Marie all
summer, anyway, so I wasn't so crazy to be Marie now, not needing any
rest from being Mary. Maybe it was 'cause I sort of hated to leave
Father.

And I did hate to leave him, especially when I found he hated to have
me leave him. And he did. He told me so at the junction. You see, our
train was late, and we had to wait for it; and there was where he told
me.

He had come all the way down there with me, just as he had before. But
he hadn't acted the same at all. He didn't fidget this time, nor walk
over to look at maps and time-tables, nor flip out his watch every
other minute with such a bored air that everybody knew he was seeing
me off just as a duty. And he didn't ask if I was warmly clad, and had
I left anything, either. He just sat and talked to me, and he asked