ide in the passage, and I thought to myself, 'Shall
I call her in?' and then I thought (in that hopeless, dreary way one
does think, with the fire going out and one's birthday just over), 'Why
should I lay my troubles on HER?' But my little self-control had its
reward, for next moment she tapped at the door and came in, and sat on
the rug, and though we neither of us said anything, I felt so happy all
of a second that I couldn't help crying, 'Oh, Katharine, when you come
to my age, how I hope you'll have a daughter, too!' You know how silent
Katharine is. She was so silent, for such a long time, that in my
foolish, nervous state I dreaded something, I don't quite know what.
And then she told me how, after all, she had made up her mind. She had
written. She expected him to-morrow. At first I wasn't glad at all. I
didn't want her to marry any one; but when she said, 'It will make no
difference. I shall always care for you and father most,' then I saw how
selfish I was, and I told her she must give him everything, everything,
everything! I told her I should be thankful to come second. But why,
when everything's turned out just as one always hoped it would turn out,
why then can one do nothing but cry, nothing but feel a desolate old
woman whose life's been a failure, and now is nearly over, and age is so
cruel? But Katharine said to me, 'I am happy. I'm very happy.' And
then I thought, though it all seemed so desperately dismal at the time,
Katharine had said she was happy, and I should have a son, and it would
all turn out so much more wonderfully than I could possibly imagine, for
though the sermons don't say so, I do believe the world is meant for us
to be happy in. She told me that they would live quite near us, and see
us every day; and she would go on with the Life, and we should finish it
as we had meant to. And, after all, it would be far more horrid if
she didn't marry--or suppose she married some one we couldn't endure?
Suppose she had fallen in love with some one who was married already?

"And though one never thinks any one good enough for the people one's
fond of, he has the kindest, truest instincts, I'm sure, and though
he seems nervous and his manner is not commanding, I only think these
things because it's Katharine. And now I've written this, it comes over
me that, of course, all the time, Katharine has what he hasn't. She
does command, she isn't nervous; it comes naturally to her to rule and
control. It's