Fill out the abbreviations to which Mrs. Major, in her diary, was
prone, and we have:

"_Getting on with Mr. Marrapit. Should succeed. Precipitancy fatal._"

Succeed in what? To what would precipitancy of action be irreparable?
Listen to a conversation that may enlighten us--spoken upon the lawn
of Herons' Holt; Mr. Marrapit in his chair making a lap for the Rose
of Sharon; Mrs. Major on a garden seat, crocheting.

A stealthy peep assuring her that his eyes were not closed, Mrs. Major
nerved herself with a deep breath; with a long sigh let it escape in
the form, "A year ago!"--dropped hands upon her lap and gazed
wistfully at the setting sun. She had seen the trick very successfully
performed upon the stage.

Mr. Marrapit turned his eyes upon her.

"You spoke, Mrs. Major?"

With an admirable start Mrs. Major appeared to gather in wandering
fancies. "I fear I was thinking aloud, Mr. Marrapit. I beg pardon."

"Do not. There is no occasion. You said 'A year ago.'"

"Did I, Mr. Marrapit?"

"Certainly," said Mr. Marrapit.

A pause followed. The wistful woman felt that, were the thing to be