Yet, in a way, her tears were wasted. It takes two to make a bargain and
although she might notify Crawford Smith that his case was hopeless,
it by no means followed that that young gentleman would accept
the notification as final. His reply to her letter was prompt and
convincing. All the references to ending it were calmly brushed aside.
There could be but two endings, one being their marriage--this, of
course, the logical and proper ending--and the other Mary's notifying
him that she did not love him. Anything else was nonsense and not worth
consideration. Wait! He would wait fifty years if necessary, provided
she would wait for him. He was about to take up his studies again, but
now he would feel that he was working for her. His father, he was sorry
to say, was not at all well. He was very nervous, weak and irritable.


I came home [he wrote] fully determined to tell him of you and my
determination to marry you--always provided you will have me, you
know--on the very night of my arrival. But when I saw how poor old Dad
was feeling and after the doctor told me how very necessary it was that
his nervous system be allowed a complete rest, I decided I must wait. So
I shall wait; perhaps I shall not tell him for months; but just as soon
as he is able to hear, I shall speak, and I am sure he will say,
"Good luck and God bless you." But if he doesn't, it will make not the
slightest difference. If you will have me, Mary dear, nothing on this
earth is going to stop my having you. That's as settled and solid a fact
as the Rocky Mountains.


He pleaded for a letter at least once a week.