lm. Marian believed
herself to be suggesting nothing save deepest concern for her daughter's
future; Merry heard nothing but a personal appeal for sacrifice. The
romance of her mother's early experience, the results which came from
the breaking of the engagement, her own interest and participation in
Hamlen's new life,--all went to strengthen the appeal, but still it
asked for sacrifice.

As she listened Merry's mind was working fast. What were the relations
existing between them? She admired her mother tremendously, and was
proud of the attention her beauty excited wherever they went. She
respected her, for no wife or mother ever carried herself in these
positions with greater regard for the proprieties. Did she love her? Of
course! what a question to come to a girl's mind! Did she? The question
repeated itself insistently. Merry wondered. If this were disloyalty,
then the thought itself formed the offense; to analyze it was imperative
before putting it aside. The girl knew that she was face to face with
the crisis of her life, that the question now in mind had really been
the cause of that unrest she had failed to understand.

"Is this something which you ask me to do?" Merry inquired at length.

"No, my dear; that would be exceeding a mother's rights."

"But you wish it?"

"Yes; that is a different matter."

"I wonder if it is," the girl said soberly.

"It is a very different matter," Marian insisted. "I am thinking only of
you, dear child. Unless you felt convinced, as I do, that your marriage
would mean your happiness, I should be the last one to wish it."

"Why don't you let me wait, as other girls do, until I find the man I
love?"

"Because you're not like other girls, Merry--"

"I've always been a disappointment to you, haven't I, Momsie?" she asked
suddenly.

"Not that, dear," Marian disclaimed. "Of course it has worried me that
you would never be intimate with young people your own age. I have never
understood it--"

"That is because I never had any girlhood, Momsie," Merry explained
seriously. "I grew up too soon. When I was little I couldn't play like
other children because my governess was always teaching me manners; so I
had nothing to do but think."

"What are you talking about, child!" Mrs. Thatcher protested. "You are a
perfect tomboy, even to-day!"

"I've had to make up for lost time, Momsie. You never saw me play when I
was little; that came after I became old enough to have my own w