deserves a good husband. She loves this man with her whole heart, poor
little thing! that is easy enough to be seen, and he does not care for
her, at least not when I am around or when I am in his mind. The
question is, is this marriage going to make the child happy? My first
impulse, when I saw Harry Goward and knew that he was poor Peggy's
lover, was immediately to pack up and leave. Then I really wondered if
that was the wisest thing to do. I wanted to see for myself if Harry
Goward were really in earnest about poor little Peggy and had gotten
over his mad infatuation for her aunt and would make her a good
husband. Perhaps I ought to leave, and yet I wonder if I ought. Harry
Goward may have turned pale simply from his memory of what an uncommon
fool he had been, and the consideration of the embarrassing position in
which his past folly has placed him, if I chose to make revelations. He
might have known that I would not; still, men know so little of women.
I think that possibly I am worrying myself needlessly, and that he is
really in love with Peggy. She is quite a little beauty, and she does
know how to put her clothes on so charmingly. The adjustments of her
shirt-waists are simply perfection. I may be very foolish to go away; I
may be even insufferably conceited in assuming that Harry's change of
color signified anything which could make it necessary. But, after all,
he must be fickle and ready to turn from one to another, or deceitful,
and I must admit that if Peggy were my daughter, and Harry had never
been mad about me six weeks ago, but about some other woman, I should
still feel the same way.

Sometimes I wonder if I ought to tell Ada. She is the girl's mother. I
might shift the responsibility on to her. I almost think I will. She is
alone in her room now, I know. Peggy and Harry have gone for a drive,
and the rest have scattered. It is a good chance. I really don't feel
as if I ought to bear the whole responsibility alone. I will go this