She told Mother about it, though, I think. Anyhow, they were talking
very busily together when they came into the library after dinner that
night, and Mother looked sort of flushed and plagued, and I heard her
say, "Perhaps the child does read too many novels, Hattie."

And Aunt Hattie answered, "Of course she does!" Then she said
something else which I didn't catch, only the words "silly" and
"romantic," and "pre-co-shus." (I don't know what that last means, but
I put it down the way it sounded, and I'm going to look it up.)

Then they turned and saw me, and they didn't say anything more. But
the next morning the perfectly lovely story I was reading, that
Theresa let me take, called "The Hidden Secret," I couldn't find
anywhere. And when I asked Mother if she'd seen it, she said she'd
given it back to Theresa, and that I mustn't ask for it again. That I
wasn't old enough yet to read such stories.

There it is again! I'm not old enough. When _will_ I be allowed to
take my proper place in life? Echo answers when.

Well, to resume and go on.

What was I talking about? Oh, I know--the prospective suitors. (Aunt
Hattie can't hear me when I just _write_ it, anyway.) Well, they all
come just as they used to, only there are more of them now--two fat
men, one slim one, and a man with a halo of hair round a bald spot.
Oh, I don't mean that any of them are really suitors yet. They just
come to call and to tea, and send her flowers and candy. And Mother
isn't a mite nicer to one than she is to any of the others. Anybody