the emotional atmosphere, the cheering effect of tea and rest and
sisterly companionship, the discursiveness of the talk, that she soon
found herself telling Mary the secret that she was so sure the widow
would hear with special sympathy and understanding.

"It is awfully selfish," she began, "to bother you with my affairs at
such a time as this, but you've got to know it some time. The fact is--
some folks would say there's no fool like an old fool, and perhaps
you'll agree with them; but no, I don't think you will--not you, for
you know...the fact is--don't laugh--but I'm sure nobody can help it
--I have been and gone and got married, Molly. There!"

And, after all, it seemed that she had not come to the right place for
sympathy and understanding. Mary did not laugh, but she stared in a
wooden manner that was even more hurtful to the feelings of the new
wife.

"Well?" she cried brusquely, after a painful pause. "Is there any just
cause or impediment that you know of? You look as if you thought I had
no business to be happy like other people."

"Oh, if you are happy! But I am so surprised. Who is it?"

"Guess," said Deb.

"I could not. I haven't an idea. Some Englishman, of course."

Deb shook her head.

"European, then? Some prince or count, as big as Francie's, or bigger?"